


From the Thunder & the Storm

by fallandrinse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 闇の末裔 | Yami No Matsuei | Descendants of Darkness
Genre: Abuse of lore & myths, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, Forgive Me, Gen, Lots of gods mucking about, M/M, Multi, Other, Rewrite of an old and beloved fic of mine, Unnecessarily complicated plot, Why do I do this to myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19115911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallandrinse/pseuds/fallandrinse
Summary: Two worlds are about to collide, violently. Wizards are losing the battle against the dark as they rely on a would-be saviour who's not sure he's up to the task or even if he wants to. Death walks the mortal realm in the shape of men and they bring with them secrets that even they are not aware of, secrets that could rewrite destiny. Demons plot and the Dark Lord Voldemort has only one goal; to rule all and conquer death. May the gods save them all.A Harry Potter x Yami no Matsuei (Descendants of Darkness) crossover. No knowledge of Yami no Matsuei is required. Just enjoy the ride, friends. It may get a bit bumpy.





	1. The Prelude to the End

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of an old fic I started back in 2003, back when FF.net was all that and more. Life happened and I abandoned it. Ten years down and I think it's time I come back to it, give it a good polish and see if people like it. Original characters, yes, taken from the original novel I'm working on, to give myself a break and to have fun with them that I can't in their original settings. And hopefully my writing is better now than a decade ago.
> 
> Disclaimer: This work is solely for non-profit and for personal enjoyment. No character or premise infringement or abuse is intended. Original characters belong to me.
> 
> Dedicated to Lisa; I have never stopped regretting that I didn't manage to say goodbye to you, or ask for your forgiveness. I love you and I will never forget you. Rest in peace, dear heart. 
> 
> Dedicated also to Literary Eagle, hitomibishop, queensarah3001, KuroSakura-chan, Shianelle, wolfawaken and many more from my old works at FF.net. You saw something in the dross and believed, and more importantly, you read. Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _4 Jan 2020:_ Added new dialogue to Takafumi’s chapter, and slight grammar edits for Ken’s.

**The Prelude to the End  
** 

_**WATARI** _

_Five years, two months and three days ago. Kyoto, Japan._

Death was oddly, not as scary as he had thought it would be.

He stared at his hands; long, slim and too pale from too many hours indoors and strangely calloused. Beakers, test tubes and stirring rods left a different imprint on skin than a calligraphy brush would, testament to the disappointment he was for a family that had wanted someone else for a son. _A pianist's hands_ , mother had laughed, in one of the few memories he had of her that wasn't tainted with helpless hate and love intertwined.

The same hands that were, in the truest sense of cliche, quite transparent.

So. He was dead.

And a ghost.

"I am so sorry."

He startled like a hare caught in a magician's trap and a soundless gasp escaped. Eyes he had thought he had plumbed the depths of and could claim to know every thought and wish stared straight into his and his _murderer saw him_.

"You're not supposed to stay dead," his killer - _I thought you were my friend!_ \- said. "You're supposed to come back, and better than before. But don't worry, I'll-" Agony wracked his fleshless body and a scream escaped but he couldn't hear himself, could only hear the steady reassurance of the man whom he had trusted, had _believed in_ , _had killed him_ and—

Light.

A cessation of pain which was good, and he catalogued, distant and in a small corner of his mind that wasn't numb with shock and betrayal that he felt.

He felt, as he would have in a flesh, blood and bone body of which he was most assuredly lacked and wondered at the unfairness of it all.

He wasn't sure if time passed. He thought it did. His mortal shell, broken and bled out was gone and he wasn't in the lab anymore. He was in the treehouse a gardener had kindly built for him in the family garden when he was twelve years old and still had the optimism of youth to ignore the whispers of disappointment from those who were supposed to love him no matter what.

"Watari Yutaka, my apologies for the intrusion but I am Shinigami Tatsumi Seiichiro."

He raised his head from the cocoon of weary, strangely heavy arms to find a brunette in a business suit and glasses (rather good-looking, the sane part of his mind noted, and doesn't feel human). He paused, confused. How did he know the man before him, who had most politely trespassed into his treehouse, wasn't human, never mind the title he gave himself?

A reaper?

"Are you here to kill me?" he asked, a tinge of hope colouring a voice gone dull.

Tatsumi, as he had named himself, smiled. "Only if you prove to be recalcitrant and a threat to humans."

"Oh."

"Indeed." His intruder folded long legs into a neat seiza before him, legs tucked underneath. The formal sitting pose should have looked odd in the ramshackle and dilapidated treehouse but he had a feeling the man (death god?) could make anything look proper and right just by _smiling politely_. "Technically, Watari-san, I can't actually kill you as you are already dead. I believe you are quite aware of that fact."

It wasn't a question but he heard the slightest note of doubt in that confident voice and the urge to find a place to hide dimmed a little. He managed to crack a smile that felt odd on his face but somehow, reassured this Tatsumi Seiichiro who was also a shinigami. "Yeah," he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah. Kinda hard to...ignore that when I'm all...see-through and my body...my previous body, I mean, my shell? Do I call it my body or my shell I mean what's the right terminology for these things it's not like they teach this in school and what about this body now and—" He gesticulated wildly, gripped with the need to use the right label for what had happened because what had happened shouldn't have and oh God he was _murdered!_

"Breathe, that's it," a kind voice murmured in his ear and he found himself held tight against a chest, the cotton beneath his cheek soft and only slightly scratchy and death gods have a heartbeat?

"You have a heartbeat," he felt the need to point out.

Quiet laughter rumbled underneath and the last of the hysteria melted away. So did the shadows in the far corner that had risen up during his outburst, dark and aware.

"I am a shinigami, Watari-san," came the reply, amusement clear. "Not a zombie. And I am here with an offer for you."

He pulled away, not without reluctance, to look up in dark eyes that reminded him of shadows. "What offer?" he whispered, and fear and sudden exhilaration took roost in his chest.

"I am here to offer you the position of a death god, Watari-san."

 

* * *

  **Chapter One**

" _I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."_

_**HARRY** _

_Now. Enfield, England._

"I don't think anyone's here, Professor," Harry said, voice quiet and even then it seemed his words were swallowed by the knickknacks and the velvet, never to be heard again.

Dumbledore, still and tall in the gloom of the sitting room said nothing. His wand, ebony dark was in his hand and nervous, Harry followed his example. They were supposed to meet an old acquaintance of the Headmaster, someone he wanted help to convince to take up the position of Potions professor for Hogwarts. The Boy Who Lived had his suspicions as to whom would take the cursed Defense role this year, if this mysterious Slughorn was to take Potions but a moment of weakness had Harry holding his tongue.

"Pro—" Harry fell silent at the twitch of Dumbledore's wand. A cascade of white, cold sparks trailed from the tip to blanket the room and lent brighter illumination where the glass lamp failed. It limned the couch, the mantel and the overstuffed bookshelves and died, leaving behind faint after images. But where the sparks fell on an empty portion of the floor near the fireplace, they hovered like frozen fireflies, and outlined a vaguely humanoid shape.

"It is as I feared, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, and slowly the fireflies faded.

"He was…" Harry swallowed. "He's dead?" It didn't take a genius to figure out what the sparks meant.

"Someone died, here and very recently yes," the Headmaster corrected him. "But I fear your hunch may be correct and we're too late."

Harry stared at where the dead body was supposed to be. "Voldemort?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore sighed. "Perhaps...let us be off then, dear boy. I shall let the Aurors know that there's suspected foul play. Be so good as to not mention to anyone you were here, hmm?" Kind, if distant blue eyes twinkled down at him, the glow a little more faded than usual. "It would cause unnecessary hardship for you, were the Aurors to think you were involved and your school year starting soon."

"Yes, Headmaster," he murmured and he kept the knowledge of Horace Slughorn and why Dumbledore desperately wanted him in the corner of his mind. Maybe one day he would find out what importance the man held, that Voldemort had him silenced. And maybe he would never. But the summer had taught him one thing at least; he could wait and bide his patience.

He had no other options for now anyway.

* * *

_**RIKU** _

_One year ago. Osaka, Japan._

Riku thought that after three years, she'd get used to the madness that was Orientation Week but apparently, that particular immunity had skipped her and everyone else on campus and was probably in someone's basement, tied up and gagged.

Shrill laughter burst out again from the table next to her; Riku closed her eyes, and prayed to Kannon for mercy, and the patience to not strangle freshmen who did not know not to annoy their seniors.

"You've got that look on your face," a breathless voice intruded upon her hard-sought calm and only the fact that she loved the owner of said voice dearly prevented her from sending the mug of hot Americano into the air to land on her best friend's head.

She slammed her European Union law textbook shut instead. "What look, there is no look," she gritted out, and peered balefully at the face before her.

"That look," was pointed out and Uehara Ken tried to not breathe like he had ran across the entire campus and - she flicked a glance at his sandy shoes - crossed the forbidden long jump pit to get to the dubious sanctuary that was the university's lone Starbucks three minutes before the time they promised to meet. "That look that says you're pissed off and about to rain righteous hell on the unlucky fool. Or fools," he added, with a sidelong glance at the next table when that particular freshman decided to laugh. Again. Was Orientation _that_ funny?

"God, I hate Orientation Week," Ken muttered, and pulled the brim of his baseball cap lower. He was already breathing fine, Riku noted with a complete lack of surprise. Damn all kendo players and their insane constitution.

"How many this time?"

"Eh?"

"Don't play dumb," the law major informed her best friend kindly. "It doesn't suit you."

Ken huffed and leaned back in his seat to spread out disgustingly long legs which she took idle joy in kicking away. She ignored the yelp the kick produced, and how Ken stretching to ease a tight back pulled up his t-shirt and revealed a toned stomach she had long ceased daydreaming about. Kansai University's kendo team were prefectural champions for a reason, and their captain who was currently exhibiting his usual appalling Orientation Week luck was fine proof of the hard work they put into their physical conditioning.

"Three," Ken sighed, which Riku echoed and she threw a wadded up napkin at the next table.

"That's your senior," she informed the suddenly terrified girls. Was her smile that scary? "And an Orientation Leader. You want his picture, you ask for permission."

"Y-yes, m'am uh-sem—"

"Scram," she flicked manicured fingers and the table cleared in seconds.

"You are wonderfully terrifying," Ken told her. "I am _so_ glad you're my friend."

Riku shook her head in faint amazement. "Maybe I destroyed a country in my past life, that's why I got saddled with you."

The laugh that got out of the twenty-six year old caught the attention of the barista, and of course it had to be the one who was mildly obsessed with Ken. With the ease of long practice, she got her stuff together and Ken towed away from the Starbucks before Matsutomi could screw up his courage. The barista was a little too obsessed with her friend and the last attempt to ask Ken out had resulted in a viral video that involved a flash mob and Ken swearing off of coffee for a month. A cranky Ken from the lack of caffeine so early in the morning was the one Ken she would gladly do without.

The Faculty of Medicine was conveniently next to the School of Legal and Political Studies to which she towed her agreeable friend along. To judge by how this was only the first week of the new academic year, and Ken already had three confessions (last year's garnered him six, but that at least took two weeks), Riku feared for her friend's innocence. So a chaperone she would be and thank the good gods that her European community law professor adored her and turned a blind eye to her sometimes erratic attendance.

"Honestly, why do you keep agreeing to become one of the leads, you idiot." They took a familiar path through her faculty's back ways and came out just after the main ground floor corridors of the med school. The hallways that were usually packed with lost newbies and frustrated seniors trying not to trample over the freshies was thankfully empty. Ken would be excused from the introductory classes that week, Riku was well aware, since he was expected to help the new freshmen to settle in.

Her best friend shrugged faintly and now, away from watching eyes, he let his broad shoulders slump a little in weariness. "I'm a sucker I guess," he muttered and Riku pretended he wasn't leaning into her a little. _Men and their fragile egos_ , she shrugged philosophically.

"You're secretly a masochist, aren't you?" Riku mused and twisted to avoid the finger that tried to poke her.

"I've been doing kendo since primary school," Ken replied, dry as anything. "Of course I'm a masochist. What other martial art wants you to say 'thank you' when you get hit by the other guy?"

Riku shook her head and pretended to call someone on her phone. "Hey, did you hear? Uehara Ken is out of the masochist closet. He finally has the brains to go with that pretty face."

"Brains are useless when you're as pretty as I am," Ken deadpanned.

Riku broke into helpless giggles, just as he had intended and allowed Ken to sling an arm around her. "Ah, Ken-chan, you always know what to say."

"Because I'm awesome, Ms. Perfect," Ken said airily. "It offsets your OCD."

She made a tsk-ing sound and tried to grab his baseball cap. "Stop pretending you actually know medicine to diagnose non-existent conditions."

Ken batted her hand away affably; easy to do when she was a good head shorter than him, the bastard. "I'm taking advanced physiology and mental disorders; I'm practically a legitimate doctor."

"Say that in front of Kamimiya-sensei, I dare you."

"God no, I don't want to get assigned to sickbay, not with these many freshies around."

She raised an eyebrow. "This new batch seems more...keen than last year's?"

"Try 'more bloodthirsty', and me unable to escape," the kendo captain muttered. At her continued silence, he relented, a faint shudder running through him. "I promised Professor Itō I'd run the faculty introduction session, the degree intro for physiotherapy and a basics class for introduction to the Per-Henrik Ling system."

Riku stopped in her tracks, which forced Ken to stop and kendo fourth _dan_ or not, he still stumbled in surprise. "Why the hell is Itō-sensei making you do all that?" she demanded. "He's not even your de—shit, he's still your dean?"

"Still my dean," he admitted, a little grimace on his face. "And my research supervisor."

"What happened to Matsuda-sensei?"

"Hasn't gotten back from his medical leave and the last email I got from him says it might be a long while yet," he admitted, unhappiness clear in the flat line of his mouth. "And we still have to organise the kendo and Kodokai demonstration sessions for club week and Itō-sensei is being all—" he waved his arms around, " _Itō-sensei_."

"Still creepy?"

"Massively creepy," Ken shuddered again. "I said yes to everything just to get out of his office as fast as I could."

Riku had to wince in shared sympathy. She couldn't understand why it took the university this long to find a new head for the medical faculty and why it had to be Prof. Itō Daisuke as the temporary head - he was already the dean for the Frontier Sciences faculty. But he was, and the man had taken a very focused interest in her friend. She would have teased him about catching an older man's eye, since most of the gays and practically half of the straight men and women of the student body were already in love with him, but Ken genuinely found the professor disturbing. He could never properly explain why, despite attempts to. But all Riku needed to know was how shaken he'd be after a long catchup session with the dean, and she was ready to waylay the professor herself if not for Ken begging her not to.

"Do you want me to try and ask my dad to step in?" she offered. It hadn't gone to the point of sexual harassment, that much she was pretty sure of (' _Weird vibes. That guy has seriously weird vibes')_ but Riku knew her own father would be more than happy to help - the old man still harboured hopes she and Ken would fall madly in love, marry and produce grandchildren for him. _Ah, papa, if only we like each other that way_ , she sighed silently. And unfortunately, Ken's parents were long gone and in no position to help their son. And Ken himself was too active on campus, with his position as the university's kendo team captain among it, that it meant he interacted more with the faculty staff than the average student.

"Naw, don't bother Nakamura-san like that—"

"Idiot, he still wants you as his son-in-law."

"—I can handle Itō-sensei," he finished with a stubborn set to his chin that she knew very well.

"Alright, alright," she acquiesced, hands up in surrender. "Just make sure you bring me with you if he calls for you again and I'm around, even if I'm on the other side of campus. Hell, even if I'm in class."

"Terrifying _and_ the bestest friend anyone could ever have," he declared solemnly.

"Damn right I am. Now, what program do you have to do now and who do I need to scare into non-stalker obedience for you?"

* * *

  ** _T_** _ **AKAFUMI** _

_One year ago. Tokyo, Japan._

"Tell me you didn't make mother cry."

Takafumi rattled the paper and ignored his older brother. For a while there was only the quiet clink of silverware and the careful scrape of a butter knife on toast. He finally gave in at a sigh outside of the flimsy barrier the morning's paper made. He lowered the _Review_ , and eyed the man across the table. Takahiro was everything that could be expected of the heir and oldest son of the Utsunomiya family; smart, successful at everything he did, passionate about medicine and genuinely kind. If he didn't love his older brother and wasn't grateful that he escaped the position of heir by being the second child, it would be easy to be jealous of Takahiro.

Said heir returned his look with a patient one that could outlast stone, and the thirty-five year old gave in.

"She has her makeup on," Takafumi pointed out wryly. "Crying would spoil it."

"Don't be an ass, Taka-kun." His brother stopped, a buttered toast in his hand as he nodded a thanks to Daisuke as the butler poured hot coffee. "You know she fusses because she's worried." Takahiro paused again, uncharacteristic enough for his brother that Takafumi paid attention. "We all are. It's only a little less than five months since the accident."

He shifted, guilt pricking his conscience and stopped as a sharp pain twinged low on his back. Takafumi stifled the curse, a hand clenched as if it’ll help with the pain but his brother's sharp eyes missed nothing. Takahiro, without a word, tapped a finger near the bottle of painkillers he had been ignoring and he gave in.

"They make me feel stupid," he muttered even as he popped two of the pills.

"They also help bring down the swelling and allow your—"

"Muscles to relax and for faster healing of damaged tissue etc etc. It's almost like I'm a doctor and I know my medication, Dr. Utsunomiya," he teased gently and was rewarded with the familiar smile that had been decidedly missing since he woke up in a hospital bed, confused and in so much pain it had taken another dose of morphine before he could even remember his own name.

"My apologies, Dr. Utsunomiya," and his brother flicked a crumb at him.

Takafumi grinned and relented. "I may have annoyed mother," he confessed. "She wanted Nakanishi-san to drive me down to Osaka. I didn't want him to. My stuff is all at the apartment already and honestly," he sighed and stood up, carefully stretching stiff and aching muscles. "I don't think I can sit that long in the car anyway. Not just yet. Taking the Shinkansen would be better and Nakanishi can drive my car down when he's not so busy."

"Fair enough. You can at least walk around on the bullet train if you get tired," Takahiro acquiesced. "I'll talk to mother, don't worry."

"Thank you." He came around the table and gave Takahiro's shoulder a squeeze. "And don't worry, I'll take it easy and I won't skip my physio, alright? Honestly, doing a second Masters is a walk in the park compared to babysitting housemen. Next thing you know I'll be begging dad to let me come back on rotation at the hospital."

Takahiro snorted. "I'll believe that when it happens. And in the meantime, get yourself a girlfriend and make mother happy, alright? Or a boyfriend," his brother added at Takafumi's raised eyebrow. "Seriously. She's more than willing for you to embrace your deviant side. As long as you settle down and get her more grandkids, biologically or adopted, she's not fussed."

"What happened to mother and why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demanded, incredulous. "Because my physiotherapist is seriously cute."

Eyes a familiar hazel-green to his own darkened and his brother said, quietly, "You almost died, that's what happened."

 _We almost died,_ a voice in his head agreed, and it felt sad. Takafumi blinked and the memory of that voice disappeared with it. The silence between the brothers were short, and neither pointed it out. He said, roughly, "You guys can't get rid of me that easily you know. Someone needs to make sure you don't get all snobby from being the awesome successor to the Utsunomiya group."

"Yes, thank God for your hard head," his brother said gravely to which Takafumi merely rolled his eyes at. He leaned against the table by Takahiro's side, taking the proffered muffin with an absent thanks.

"I've been meaning to ask," Takahiro said, interrupting his idle review of his schedule for the day (Shinkansen to Shin-Osaka, take a local train to Suita station and then a cab). "Why Kansai Uni?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why KanDai? Why not?"

"There's ToDai," Takahiro pointed out reasonably. "Nearer and with an excellent medical faculty."

"They do," he replied, finishing the last of the muffin and stole his brother's napkin to wipe his hands, which Takahiro bore with the long-suffering patience of older brothers everywhere. "But like you said, it's near. And our family is too well-known. I'm never going to get a moment's peace if the students there realise who I am. Students _and_ professors, and you know they'll find out."

 _We need to find...need to find h—_ , it was the voice again, and it disappeared, abrupt, leaving the man confused and wondering why he was confused. The painkiller, Takafumi decided. It was too strong for him likely. He better get a lower dosage before it affected him to the point of his family noticing.

"That's unfortunately true," Takahiro agreed with a small twist of his lips. "The nearest hospital branch we have around KanDai is nearer to Ibaraki, and we've always had a lower profile in the west." Takahiro threw him a look. "While I don't want you to stress yourself out, it'd be good to hear your thoughts on how we can strengthen our presence in that region."

Takafumi snorted, but nodded agreeably anyway. "And that is why you're dad's successor, not me."

"I'm power-hungry and you're just sex-hungry."

"I wish," Takafumi sighed, and smiled a thanks as Daisuke handed him a cup of coffee, liberally dashed with milk just the way he liked it. Daisuke murmured gentle reminders about not eating takeaways or combini food while he was on his own and Takafumi assured the older man he would behave. He was going to miss the old butler in the one year he'd spend in Osaka since he had also turned down his mother's offer to send Daisuke's apprentice with him. He had leased a small apartment (too small, mother had sighed) and having help around was unnecessary. He'd figure out how to feed himself even if it meant YouTube recipes and lots of izakaya in the first few months.

"The cramps are still bothering me a bit so no hanky-panky just yet."

"And Watanabe-san is completely out of the picture?"

"How on earth did you know about Watanabe?" He stared down at Takahiro in astonishment. Watanabe had been a fresh med grad who had been assigned to him before the accident. When things started heating up between him and the unfortunately very attractive younger man, he had bowed to reason and asked Watanabe to change mentors. Watanabe had taken it as a lack of commitment from him and promptly left the hospital in a righteous sulk. Just a month later he had the accident and last he heard, Watanabe had gotten an apprenticeship in Hokkaido.

Takahiro gave him a look. "I am your older brother. And the nurses are terrible gossip," he added with a grin. "Nurse Sawada was quite peeved that Watanabe didn't even bother to visit you when you were recovering. I had to stop her from calling up the head nurse in Watanabe's hospital."

He let out a helpless laugh at that, even as the tips of his ears warmed a little, with embarrassment and dare he admit, a little pleasure that the formidable Nurse Sawada felt so. "He's completely out," he assured Takahiro. "Even blocked my mobile number," he finished cheerfully. "His loss, I guess. God knows I can't stand it when they get dramatic like that."

"And here I thought homosexual relationships were supposed to be more straightforward than heterosexual ones," Takahiro murmured in an aside to Daisuke. The old butler nodded solemnly.

"Oh, trust me, the drama is the same. Except with different equipment," he added with a grin.

"Enough," Takahiro laughed, waving his napkin in surrender. "Get going you, before you miss your train. And I have a board meeting and a lunch date with Chieko. She sends her love by the way and remember, we expect you home every month if possible, for dinner."

"Monthly dinner checkups it is," he agreed easily. "Unless I happen to snag a very hot senior at KanDai and in that case I might be too busy sha—"

"Out!"

* * *

_**LUCIUS** _

_Now. Spinner's End, Cokeworth, England._

Lucius stared at the _humble_ abode Severus called a home and felt his lips curl in distaste. That a Potions Master of Snape's caliber did not have a dwelling as befitting his mastery was a disgrace but that, the Malfoy lord had to admit, was a useless battle to fight. Many a year had it been that he had tried to convince the dour man to move to a better address but the Slytherin head had a stubborn streak worthy of a Gryffindor.

The abandoned mill with its brick chimney stretched to the grey, gloomy sky like a dead giant, a reminder of the pathetic lives Muggles led. How they survived, nay, flourish in such decay mystified him. Perhaps it was a form of magic? He sneered at the thought. Muggles with magic. A more perverted idea than the thought of Snape living among such squalor. But, he noted, it did mean that none of the Death Eaters ever suggested using Spinner's End as a base, pampered as they were. So perhaps Snape had the right idea...

"You're dawdling," came the cool admonishment by his side, nothing more than a murmur that would have been swallowed up by an errant breeze. A light touch at his side recalled the patriarch to his—no, their mission, and Lucius gave a soundless sigh.

"Perhaps," he admitted. He slanted a narrow glance to his wife and was gratified to see her usual unperturbed facade in place. No matter what may happen, no matter what Narcissa may feel, the world would not know it. She was a Malfoy; _they_ were Malfoys and they would present a united front. "We are sure of this?" Rare it was for Lucius to admit to uncertainty when not behind the spelled walls and wards of the Manor but their ancestral fortress was no longer a Malfoy's safe haven from the crude and dirt of the riff-raff. _He_ now held the keys to the Manor and the mere _thought_ of it caused Lucius to grit his teeth, for soft leather to creak in protest as clenched hands laid bare his impotent frustration.

Another light touch on his tense fist, and Lucius breathed in the crisp, smog-tainted air and didn't let the revulsion show.

"Our heir is everything," Narcissa murmured, eyes distant. "Draco is everything. I will not let him be shackled to a monster." She turned to face him, uncaring for the front door that had creaked open and a dark figure that waited with arms crossed. "You promised me, Lucius. We have made our mistakes and we are paying for it. But I will not let the burden of that fall on to Draco."

He stared deep into her eyes and saw nothing but the steel-grey determination that had her whispering her plans to him in the darkest of nights, behind blooded candles and wards that buzzed in the ether so that _He_ could not overhear.

"We risk losing everything," he warned her again, soft, but there was no plea in it, only a last reminder of what this path, among many, will lead them to.

"Gold? House elves? Pretty dresses?" She scoffed and another butterfly touch on his cheek. Lucius treasured that rare show of public affection and a small, but genuine smile broke free. "We are Malfoys. He sees only the wealth we want him, and the world to see. Let him take away the vaults in Gringotts, the warded strongroom. Let them think they have laid waste to our wealth and then…"

The smile turned cruel then, and anticipatory, and Narcissa answered it with one of her own. "And then we destroy them," Lucius purred.

"And then we destroy them," Narcissa agreed, serene. "Shall we?"

He bowed, and offered the lady Malfoy his arm. She took it with a graceful curtsy that was completely out off place at Spinner's End but oh so right and together, the Malfoys faced the future they hoped to change.

**_To be continued..._ **


	2. Passions of a Common Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _4 Jan 2020_ Ken’s and Takafumi’s scenes have been edited with additional dialogue.

_**WATARI** _

_Five years and one day ago. Meifu, Land of the Dead._

"Begin by stepping forward with the left foot, then the right, and finally bring your left foot in line with your right before you begin the Pace of Yu; this is the basic Star-Stepping Pattern that all respectable onmyouji must learn before you perform the more complex versions. This centres your mind and spirit to perform the basic meditation and also acts as demon or yuurei warding…"

Becoming a Shinigami, Watari realised, required a lot of studying.

There were the Meifu law classes, because becoming a Shinigami didn't mean going out and fighting bad ghosts and riding off into the sunset, unfortunately. There were actual laws that governed inter-dimensional travel that only Shinigami were allowed to do; to cross between Meifu, the Land of the Dead and Chijou, the Land of the Living. There were laws that stated which level of Hell's army if caught on earth can be immediately destroyed, and which rank would require a Commander of the Divine Twelve to apprehend.

(That same Commander was another Shinigami called Tsuzuki, apparently, who had a fondness for sweets and chocolates, said a wry Tatsumi and a propensity to accidentally cause catastrophical property damage when he got into brawls over the last donut in the office with Terada, a fellow death god.)

There were lessons on understanding the politics between Meifu and Makai, and then there were the onmyoujitsu classes, where he learned that yin yang knowledge and application was more than just finding the best spot to open your restaurant. It meant understanding which divine protection was best used for which situation and whether he should use the Secret Invocations of the Six Jia, or recite the Nine Heavens to protect himself from a vengeful spirit.

And becoming an onmyouji, a practitioner of the art of onmyoujitsu, meant he had to become intimately familiar with spell backlash (it's a bitch), demons (they _weren't_ kidding about Hell having an army?) and that Tatsumi Seiichiro looked rather hot when he showed Watari's small class how a kagetsukai or Shadow Master incorporated onmyoujitsu in their spells. It was the glasses, combined with the suit. The mix of modern suave when executing spells of Class A caliber made Watari shiver and grateful he had a desk to hide his rather unfortunate reaction behind.

(Watari was almost embarrassed to discover that his own innate ability, unlike Tatsumi's control over shadows, was the skill to bring his drawings to life. It would have been impressive if his drawings were not much better than a five year old's.)

He was also a little disconcerted to find that being dead did not mean an escape from paperwork. Because Lord Enma Dai-oh, Judge of the Dead apparently believed in proper procedures and documentation. So that meant everything had to be done in _duplicates_.

Even his second existence required wrapping his head around the fact that Meifu, the Land of the Dead of which he now resided, mirrored the living. The Shokan, or the Summoning Division of which all Shinigami were assigned to, was housed in an alternate version of the congress building in Tokyo, the Diet. There were offices and water coolers, photocopy machines (how did they get the Fujitsu service guys to come?), coffee machines and a cafeteria. And _of course_ it meant that Lord Enma had his own office as well, because why not?

All that combined and the former human thought he would have had a harder time to adjust in being a god of death, but the months flew by, even if it was forever springtime in Meifu, cherry blossom petals eternally falling. There were sessions on the proper method to counsel, entrap or banish spirits; how to negotiate with demi-gods and acquire a contract of service with one and even a class on Makai language, the language of demons. He was also made to understand by a brusque employee of the Shiroku who ran him through his onboarding, that while he was practically immortal and would look exactly like how he was before he died, screwing around as a Shinigami meant his status would be revoked and he'd get a one way no-return ticket to the lowest pits of hell.

It made Watari all the more keen to understand this new existence he found himself living (was he technically 'alive'?) and memorise the rules front and back because he didn't dare risk banishment.

Not until he found out why his best friend had killed him.

The blonde unwrapped his sandwich, letting the white noise of the lunchtime crowd cocoon him. It hadn't taken long for him to realise that while Meifu had a sprawling, human-like government staffed by spirits of the dead, only the Shinigami were granted flesh and blood bodies and able to travel the world of the living, Chijou. It made the small division unique, and both envied and pitied by anyone not a Shinigami. You were either jealous of a Reaper for being able to walk among the living and pretend to be one for a while, or felt bewilderment that anyone would willingly leave the eternal peace of Land of the Dead.

And the souls that populated Meifu, Watari realised, tended to fall in either category.

So it resulted in rather lonely lunches most of the time as he underwent training, since it seemed the Shokan office was rather secluded and active shinigami rarely ventured into the main buildings of the Diet. He got used to it fast enough though. At least he didn't have to explain himself so many times how he died and _why_ because Emma knew he didn't kn—

"A yen for your thoughts, Watari-san," came the quiet murmur.

He started, surprised that anyone had even approached. "Tatsumi-san!"

The shinigami inclined his head in a shallow bow, holding his own lunch tray and seemingly oblivious to the startled, and some outright frightened stares from other employees. "May I join you, Watari-san?"

Watari coughed, and red flooded his cheeks. "Please, go ahead."

Tatsumi slid into the opposite bench, blocking him from the rest of the cafeteria and inexplicably, Watari felt a little of the tension he seemed to always carry ratchet down a notch. Almost, he wished he had spent more time on his hair today - untameable waves of pale gold thanks to his American mother that he usually tied back in a loose ponytail was a little more frazzled than usual. He had discovered that chanting the Kuji _while_ doing the Pace of Yu gave very explosive results.

Thank Enma for immortality.

"My apologies that I wasn't able to join you earlier, Watari-san," Tatsumi was saying and the former scientist blinked owlishly.

"Oh, don't worry about it," he hastened to assure the man. "I kinda get that uh...that shinigami tend to be a bit reclusive."

Tatsumi accepted his assurance gracefully, encouraging him to start on his food. "We are; we find it easier that way. As well, our caseload recently has been high." He gave a faint grimace, as if the very notion of too many unsanctioned deaths offended him. It probably did, Watari thought to himself with a silent chuckle. The few times he had met the Shokan secretary had given him the impression of a man who exuded order and calm and woe the one who dared to disturb it.

"I take it Lord Hakushaku isn't very happy about that either?"

The Count of the Castle of Candles looked over the Death registry on behalf of Enma and was the direct supervisor for the Shokan, answering only to Enma Dai-oh. Names that entered the registry had a scheduled time and manner of death. When the names had been registered but the mortal failed to die on schedule, the case was assigned to the reaper overseeing the prefecture the mortal lived in.

"The Count has made his displeasure known, yes." A faint smile twitched Tatsumi's lips and Watari cleared his throat. "We're looking forward to when you'll join us, Watari-san. I know Tsuzuki Asato and Kurosaki Hisoka-san can't wait to meet you."

"Tsuzuki and Kurosaki," he murmured the names, and committed it to memory. The same Tsuzuki who was the Commander of the Divine Twelve? "Uh...is it rude if I ask how old are they?" He had a faint suspicion about shinigami, one that was confirmed at the secretary's answer.

"Tsuzuki is twenty-six years old in mortal years, over seventy including death years. Kurosaki-san is sixteen years old, twenty-six in total. They've been partners for the last ten years and oversee the Kyushu prefecture."

A pang of something he wasn't sure of made his stomach twist. Sadness? Another new employee he had made friends with in his onmyoujitsu classes had told the blond that Shinigami tended to be young and male. Those who died in old age were too weary of living to continue the twilight existence of a god of death, and females were more prone to becoming restless spirits, their unquiet resolved focused on specific people among the living.

"And asking about a Shinigami's age is fine," Tatsumi reassured him. "Asking about how they died though is…"

"A bad idea?" he smiled weakly. He wouldn't know how to answer either, if someone asked him. Hadn't been able to answer, when an instructor did. The memory clogged his throat, the pain of lacerated flesh flayed by magic colder than nitrogen and brought with it agony hotter than black hell flames they had been given a demonstration of just last week. The instructor had immediately apologised.

Tatsumi paused, taking a sip of miso soup to arrange his thoughts. "Depends on the shinigami," he allowed. Watari noticed that the secretary didn't offer an explanation as to how he himself died. Pure curiosity needled him - the man knew how he died after all, had been the one to collect him - but he kept his mouth shut. "I do have news for you though, Watari-san. Your performance so far has been satisfactory and Chikushi-san confirmed that you will be able to graduate by the end of the month. You'll begin your duties at the Shokan on the first and will be assigned to the Henjoucho division. Osaka and Kyoto," he added at Watari's look of confusion. I'll be your temporary partner until we find someone more suitable for you."

"Do I have to have a partner?" Watari blurted out. He had thought he could use the time to investigate….investigate _him_ , find out why a friend he had trusted with his life, had taken it instead. A partner would complicate things, would restrict his movements in the human world.

Tatsumi gave him a stern, but understanding look. "I know your dissatisfaction with the manner of your death, Watari-san. You wouldn't have accepted the offer to become a Shinigami otherwise. But trust in the human justice system, or if all else fails, Lord Enma. Because no mortal can avoid His justice."

"Are you sure? Are you _sure_ no one escapes Enma-sama's judgment?" Watari whispered, fists clenched helplessly.

"I am. All shinigami are required to have partners, to keep us in check for we alone wield the ability to walk between realms. It is a heavy responsibility, Watari-san." A pause and he felt a gentle touch on his bowed head. "If you've changed your mind, Yutaka," Tatsumi continued quietly and Watari twitched in surprise, "I will speak with Konoe-san about your resignation. No one will look badly on you if you do, trust me."

It took him a while to answer, but Tatsumi waited, patient. When he managed to swallow the painful lump in his throat, he gave the secretary a watery smile. "I'll continue, thank you," he answered softly. "I mean...I've learned so much, and I still have more to learn. I can use the time to improve my drawing," he joked.

That drew an answering, genuine grin from Tatsumi. "Then I look forward to working with you, partner."

* * *

_**KEN** _

_One year ago. Osaka, Japan._

Ken shifted minutely in his seat and wished the chair to hell. The cushions were leather, thick and plump and made him feel as if he was forever sinking. It left him feeling helpless, unable to immediately react to any threats or attack and when faced with _this_ man, he wanted to be able to run as fast as he could when he had to.

Because striking the dean of his faculty would probably be in very bad form, considering he wouldn't even be able to answer why he did it in the first place.

_There’s something wrong this man, why are we here? Why—_

"You've been doing well, Uehara-san?"

Professor Itō, when Ken could ignore the chills that crawled down his spine, was undoubtedly good looking. The years were kind to him, the crags and lines lending him a dignity which he carried well with his tailored suits and pocket kerchief always neatly folded. He heard the other professors gossip about how he was too fashionable for a dean, but Ken couldn't deny that plenty more, instructors and students alike, found Itō Daisuke handsome and charming.

It was why only Riku and her father knew how much the man scared him.

Ken paused, biting his lower lip. God yes, the man scared him but hell if he could figure out _why_.

 _We know why_ , the voice whispered in his head. _You must listen to me. He’s—_ Ken blinked, puzzled and the memory of that voice disappeared.

"Uehara-san?"

"I'm doing fine." He tried for a smile but it probably came out more of a grimace. The dean didn't seem to care or notice, dark eyes fixed steadily on the nervous young man.

"That's good to hear," the professor murmured. "I knew I was asking a lot from you, with your duties as Orientation leader and the Kansai prefectural kendo championships coming up but you have yet to disappoint me in your diligence and care."

Thank—" he coughed, and Ken wondered why a butterfly of panic fluttered in his stomach at the praise. "Thank you, Professor." The man just had to ask him for a meeting when Riku was in the middle of teaching a class. No matter what she said, he wasn't going to drag his friend out when she had her own responsibilities to perform. But next time, he was going to arrange for a fake emergency he could run to, yeah, that would be an awesome idea if not for the fact that he didn't exactly have any family to create emergencies for.

As if his mind was read, Itō raised a grey eyebrow. "You're still staying by yourself off-campus? Your aunt is not making you stay at home with them?"

 _Which aunt_ , he thought, not even surprised anymore at the weary bitterness that coloured it. He had plenty of relatives thanks to quite a few siblings on both his mom and dad's side and had been shuffled from aunt to uncle to aunt since he was eleven. They were all quite glad to see him decide to live on his own when he turned twenty-one and it was clear that Grandfather wouldn't release his trust fund to anyone else.

"Being independent is good for me," he answered noncommittally, hands squeezed tight. If he ever found out who the hell told the dean about his situation, he was going to use them as a kendo dummy but what's done was done. And unfortunately it meant Itō had the perfect excuse to get him to come in practically every month on the pretence of checking on one of the faculty's student leaders.

"You don't need any help? I know Mariko would be more than happy to welcome you to our home—"

"No!" Ken blurted out, and tried to struggle up from the chair. "It's fine, please don't worry about me I am doing great really please—"

"Calm down, Uehara-san," the dean chuckled. "Why, you almost made me think you didn't like me!"

Ken mumbled his protests, and managed to at least push himself to the edge of his seat, the easier to excuse himself as fast as he could. But the professor chose to talk about the class he was going to start teaching next week instead, and resigned, Ken nodded along and prayed that a meteor would strike the office instead.

No such luck, unfortunately.

"...the importance of the Per-Henrik theories to today's physical education and basics of rehabilitation, do you agree, Uehara-san?"

"Yes sir," Ken sighed, eyes trained on the carpet before him and froze when a pair of leather loafers entered his field of vision. He didn't dare look up and could have cursed himself for not realising the professor was going to approach him. He usually used the excuse to shoot straight to his feet, claiming it was rude to sit when his dean was standing but this time, he was caught completely off guard. His heart felt like a hummingbird in his chest, so fast did it beat.

A hand patted his bowed head and Ken strangled the whimper that tried to claw its way out of his throat.  _Nonononono_ , the voice was back, panicked but the fear was for  _him_ , not the voice itself and that scared Ken and it scared the young man that he didn’t know why he was scared.

"I really do worry about you, Uehara-kun." The gentle endearment and the warm caress should have felt comforting. It probably would if it was anyone else - even his own team mates had teased him about how the dean looked on him so favourably. But all Ken could think about was the dread that curdled his stomach as the professor spoke so gently to him, like a father, and how darkness crept in the edges of his vision. "I can see you working so hard all the time and while it is so admirable in one so young, we do worry that you're working too hard."

 _We?_ Who exactly was the dean fooling? Ken's breath started coming a little faster, fingernails dug into his thighs instead of lashing out, anything to get the man away from him.

"I hear you're single currently, and not for lack of trying from the rest of the student body." The professor laughed gently and squeezed his shoulder. "Are you….gay, Uehara-san?"

Ken's head shot up, eyes inexplicably caught by the professor's and the blood drained from his face.

"It's fine if you are," Itō said gently, and squeezed him again and God, Ken _really_ wished he would stop doing that because he was going to hyperventilate soon. "KanDai is a progressive university, you know this. And if anyone ever gives you a hard time, we—"

A knock on the door and it swung open. "Professor Itō? I'm—oh, I am so sorry, your secretary wasn't in and I didn't realise you have a visitor."

Ken struggled to his feet and could have wept when Itō's hand fell away. He sketched a hasty bow and hurried out, barely pausing for an apology when he stumbled into the dean's guest who steadied him.

"I'm Utsunomiya Takafumi, Professor - is everything.."

_Run!_

He didn't pause to hear and ran for his life.

* * *

_**TAKAFUMI** _

_One year ago. Osaka, Japan._

"Utsunomiya-sensei! You're looking well!"

Takafumi felt a warm smile spring up, genuine in its affection as he turned to greet the young woman who had come running up to him. Long, black hair swung forwards as she gave him a deep bow and Takafumi groaned out loud. "Nakashima-san, must you?" He saw a few of the looks sent Nakashima's way and felt the grin twitch a little wider. _Someone is obviously popular_ , he mused and it was easy to see why as the girl threw him a brilliant smile. Nakashima Riku was beautiful in that classic Nadeshiko style. Dark, lustrous hair always neat, flawless skin and impeccable manners, and a sharp mind behind the face that could make any man stupid with want or running in the other direction for fear of her well-aimed, cutting tongue.

 _Mother would be ecstatic if I marry her_.

_But she is not our love._

_What?_

After so many years though, and plenty of experimentation, Takafumi was quite comfortable batting for the other team and if he were to take his brother at face value, which he always did, mother might have finally given up on getting him to settle down with a nice young lady. And good gods he was grateful; because KanDai was shaping up to be quite promising, especially if he could figure out who the young man who ran out of Itō's office earlier was.

"Must I what, sensei?" Riku raised an eyebrow as she fell into step with him.

"Must you call me sensei?" He raised an eyebrow back. "One, we're not at the hospital and two, you're no longer an intern. Also, I'm a student now."

The law major had a summer internship on his brother's legal team last year and the year before; good enough that Takahiro had taken genuine interest in her as a potential future talent for the group. She had inevitably been dragged to all the meetings she could handle, and even a few dinners at the family home where she had proceeded to charm his parents, Chieko, Daisuke and himself. Takafumi had also liked her enough that he started seeking her out at the hospital for lunch or breaks, and she had been the sympathetic ear he turned to when Watanabe dumped him. It sounded nauseatingly pompous even just thinking it, but Takafumi found the fact that she didn't turn into a puddle of goo whenever she talked to him, or tried to sink her claws in to become Mrs Utsunomiya terribly refreshing.

She lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. "Old habits die hard. But…" she gently steered him to one of the many green spaces that dotted the campus grounds, and lifted a hand in distracted acknowledgement to a group of obvious freshmen students who bowed their way past. Takafumi found himself on a bench and sighed in relief. He didn't realise how his back had been aching until he sat down.

"Are you really up to this, sensei?" Riku asked him quietly, concern in her brown eyes. The sounds of a new semester starting surrounded them, a fragile bubble of privacy and Takafumi found himself giving the younger girl a helpless, fond smile. A genuine friend was rare in his experience, not when you were an Utsunomiya and single, and till today he was puzzled how he got lucky enough to call the girl someone he could trust.

"I am completely up to this, as I've said to Takahiro, Chieko, and both of my parents," he assured her, and resisted the urge to tweak her nose. "I also haven't skipped any of my physio sessions, you mother hen. Although I need to find a new physiotherapist here." He cracked his neck and sighed in relief, ignoring Riku's elbow jab. "The one Takahiro arranged for me at Suita Yamate was an ass. And he wanted to get into my pants."

"I thought you'd like that," was Riku's dry quip.

He shot her a look from under hair grown a little too long. "He was twenty years older than me. With a wife and three kids."

Riku let out her own sigh as she sat back. "Are you sure it wasn't just your imagination?" she asked, only mildly hopeful. Only a second son the man might be to a powerful family but the good doctor was popular with the nurses and patients for a good reason. He could charm a screeching rich man's wife into cooing agreeability and soothe a child too terrified to go for surgery into grinning bravery and had the looks that went with it.

And Takafumi proved her suspicion correct. "How exactly is massaging my ass and trying to give me a hand job in any way related to my rehab?"

"Too much information," Riku muttered, a baleful glare thrown his way when he snickered. "But," she nudged him, "Everything else is settled? You got your class schedule and confirmed your thesis supervisor?"

Takafumi nodded, letting his eyes wander as he took in the grounds. KanDai's main campus was large and sprawling, with modern cinder blocks side by side next to red brick turn of the century architecture. It was an odd mix that worked, and the student body so far seemed much less stressed out than ToDai's, one of the reasons why he had decided against the prestigious Tokyo University. "I got Professor Itō Daisuke as my supervisor," he said absently. "Apparently he's doing research on hippocampal function with sub-lethal irradiation and my work on delayed aging will compliment his work. He's getting me to teach anatomy to the undergrads here as well. Does he have a student helper, by the way?" He turned to the woman with a frown. "Some guy was with him earlier, looked like a student although he seemed to be in a hurry to get away."

He didn't miss the way Riku's eyes widened, nor the curse she let out and he swallowed back a chuckle. "I take it you know whom I'm talking about," Takafumi prompted.

Riku sighed, long and hard and raked a hand through her hair. "A couple of inches shorter than you, pretty good-looking and unfortunately, very fit?"

Takafumi blinked. "Yes, yes and I may have felt some nice muscles when he ran into me?" He was a doctor after all, and intimately familiar with the human body. Even that brief brush had told him a lot about the other man and it said that the intriguing stranger was trained in a martial art or dance, since he had excellent control despite looking like he was being chased by wild dogs and managed to catch himself and Takafumi when they had bumped into each other. A mumbled apology and the ashen-faced student had disappeared even before he could ask for a name, and Itō didn't seem keen to talk about the student.

And the guy was good-looking. Completely. He had caught a glimpse of almond-shaped eyes, lips that he really wouldn't mind kissing and cheekbones sharp enough to grate cheese on.

 _He was beautiful_ , the voice was back, tone wistful.  _Beautiful like our love was._ Takafumi agreed, no longer surprised when he forgot what it was he agreed with.

"Are you still allergic to physical exertion, Nakashima-chan?” he teased the younger woman, grin growing larger at the dark scowl it got him.

"Call me that again and I'll tell Nurse Sawada it was you that finished all the coffee capsules in the lounge last time and forgot to refill it," Riku threatened. Takafumi raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh. "I just don't like sweating and working out and Ken keeps trying to drag me to the gym," Riku grumbled. "And yes, that was the friend I told you about - Uehara Ken. He knows he's not supposed to see Professor Itō without me, that idiot!"

The doctor started, surprised at the vehemence in the usually calm girl. He did remember an Uehara that she had mentioned once or twice before, the best friend who was a former judo champion in high school and did he recall her mentioning that same friend was deathly allergic to social media and having his picture taken?

He had expected someone short and bulky, as most serious judo players were, but Uehara Ken was tall and lithe instead. Although supposedly the younger man did do kendo as well didn't he? "The uni's kendo team captain, right?" he guessed. "Doing a masters in rehabilitation? Doesn't have Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or Ameblo because of stalkers?"

"Obsessive stalkers," Riku affirmed with a wry twist of her lips. "And yes he does kendo and Kodokai as well - that's a traditional sword school - and too popular for his own good," she admitted glumly. "Professor Itō adores him, as does half the campus, but the dean really—" she snapped her mouth shut and stared at him instead.

"What did I do?"

"You need a new physiotherapist, right?" Riku asked abruptly.

"Yes...that's what I said five minutes ago."

"Ken's thesis is focusing on rehabilitation and restoring partial mobility of paralysed patients, plus he's an accredited physiotherapist," she answered, and Takafumi refused to admit that the narrowed focus the younger girl had on him made the doctor the slightest bit nervous.

"Are you trying to set me up with him?" he frowned. "Not that I'm complaining...he _did_ seem like my type, looks-wise."

"You need a physiotherapist and a love life," Riku said flatly. "And frankly, no one is good enough for Ken. Except, maybe you," she acquiesced gracefully.

"Thank you...I think. You know he might not want to help me," he felt obliged to point out. "From what it sounds like, he's already quite busy."

Riku flapped a hand, dismissing his concerns. "He likes keeping busy. The longer he stays outside and doesn't need to go back home, the better for h—you're doing it again," she glared at the bemused doctor.

"No, seriously, what did I _do_?"

"It's that bedside manner you have. I keep telling you stuff that I usually don't," she huffed, arms crossed with a reluctant wry grin twitching her lips. "And some of these things only Ken should say. Although, please—" she put up a hand, "Do not share with me any details of your sex life if you do end up having one, especially with Ken. I love him like a brother and I do not want to imagine him having sex."

Takafumi leaned back, arms crossed as well as he nudged her knee. "And here I thought you liked him…" he trailed off. It had seemed that way the few times Riku did talk about her best friend. There was real, genuine fondness in her voice whenever she spoke about Uehara, rare as it was.

The silence that fell between was filled with bright laughter from across the green and just when Takafumi thought he had crossed a line, an apology ready on his lips, Riku answered him, slowly. "I did, like him, that is." She paused, obviously choosing her words with care. "He's a rare breed. But—" she lifted a shoulder affably. "After a while I realised what I had was just a crush and Ken needs more than what I can give him."

Intrigued, because Takafumi trusted the girl's instinct, he nudged her again. "So what does he need, and what makes you think I can give it to him?"

She gave him a look. "Do you honestly think I would make it that easy for you, sensei?"

He huffed out a laugh. "It was worth a shot. Either way, anyone you like is worth my time to get to know, with or without a possible sex life happening."

Faint colour dotted her cheeks but Riku kept her composure. "Anyway," she cleared her throat and got to her feet, a hand offered to Takafumi as he slowly pushed himself up with a groan. "The Kansai Prefectural Championships qualifiers is starting in two months and the team has morning practice every weekday."

He took a quick glance at his phone. "It's half past eight though."

"That means they're going to finish their conditioning session soon," she shrugged and led the way past the library. "Wednesdays is conditioning and basics. Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays are for basics and techniques and Fridays are competition drills."

"You have a disturbing level of knowledge of their schedule, you realise that right?" he pointed out cheerfully.

"It helps knowing it so I know when I need to rescue him," she retorted, hurrying up a short flight of stairs to what a sign pointed out as the university dojo, just behind the library. Already he could hear the faint sounds of shouts from behind closed doors. "Ken's stalkers are a determined bunch and they usually get too scared to approach him if I'm around. And unfortunately, they _really_ like conditioning days."

Takafumi stepped in to the dojo behind Riku, absently toeing off his shoes and giving a quick bow before he entered the space proper and stopped short. "Ah, I can see why."

The why being that particular Uehara Ken leading a group through a series of stretches. The younger man was all lean lines and defined musculature; years of hard work, the doctor appreciated, and strict discipline. Uehara didn't even glance at them, focused on leading his team through a set of cool down movements and the more clinical part of Takafumi's mildly infatuated brain noted his obvious skill and familiarity with approval. Uehara made sure to stop his own stretching to correct a teammate's poor form, guiding with patience despite being sweat-drenched himself. It was, he thought distantly as Riku led him to a few older men watching the practice who had to be the team's senseis, terribly lucky for him that Uehara Ken was exactly the type that he liked.

 _He is beautiful_ , the voice agreed, awe in its tone which Takafumi could totally agree with.  _Is he our love?_

"...needs a physiotherapist and I recommended Uehara-kun, Hamaguchi-sensei," Riku finished quietly, gesturing to Takafumi and he hurriedly bowed, offering apologies for intruding.

"It'll do him good," Hamaguchi noted, gruff but not unkind as he nodded at Takafumi. "He's told me he hasn't managed to get in some good practical yet for his thesis."

The other two sensei agreed. "He's distracted today, did you notice?" said the one who introduced himself as Kawaguchi.

"Aa. He's not getting sick, is he, Riku-chan?" Takeda, the shorter sensei among the three frowned. "We need him for qualifiers and prefecturals but I rather he not sacrifice his health for it. His fifth dan grading is coming up as well."

Takafumi made a mental note to ask Riku later why that sensei got to call her -chan but he got death threats in return. He barely heard the girl's reply to Takeda though because Uehara chose that moment to strip off his drenched top and Takafumi thanked himself fervently for choosing KanDai.

 _God bless kendo_ , he thought, experience keeping his face in a pleasant smile and not instead, dialing up his brother to tell him he was never coming back to the hospital. While the rest of the team broke off to do their own final cool down, Uehara approached another guy, heads bent low together before the team captain knelt and squeezed the guy's calf. Takafumi cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he studied the object of Riku's new plotting. Checking for muscle soreness, the doctor decided, seeing how Uehara palpated the calf and got his teammate to sit down and stretch his leg out.

 _Oh, be still my heart_ , he sighed silently. The younger man did his examination with professional skill, which lent credence to Riku's assertion that he was an accredited physiotherapist. Not that he doubted the woman, but she could be mildly biased.

Finished, Uehara lent a hand up to his teammate and shouted for attention. "Dry down, change and we'll begin practice in fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, captain!"

Uehara spotted their group then, and hurriedly jogged over. "Takeda-sensei, I've asked Tosaka to sit out training today. He complained about his calf and I don't think he should continue."

Takeda waved his agreement. "Good, let's not take chances when the All Japan qualifiers is just eight weeks away. Uehara-kun, Riku-chan says this young man here is looking for a physiotherapist and wanted to recommend you. Are you up to it?"

A look passed between Uehara and Riku, something he couldn't decipher but it did result in Uehara bowing low to him as Riku introduced him. "This is Dr. Utsunomiya Takafumi, Ken, from the hospital I interned at. Utsunomiya-sensei is doing his second Masters here at KanDai but he needs a therapist to help with his rehab while he's here."

"Ah, Utsunomiya-sensei," Uehara quirked a small grin at Takafumi's return bow. "Riku talks about you a lot. I'm glad to see you-" he paused, a frown on his face. "Have we met...oh my God." Light hazel eyes widened and Takafumi was rewarded with a tide of red that flooded across Uehara's nose and cheeks that caused a little flutter in his stomach.

The voice whispered insistently in his head, a background litany he could barely make out; _our love our love is it our love?_

Shit, was he already developing a crush?

"You're the one I ran into at Ito-sensei's office! I am so sorry!"

Takafumi laughed it off. "Please don't worry about it. I'm sorry to be troubling you like this, but Riku highly recommended you and I do tend to trust her judgment. Are you alright though?" he asked in concern. "You didn't seem well then."

Uehara and Riku exchanged another look and Takafumi made a mental promise to grill the details out of the girl later. "It's nothing," Uehara said, clearly uncomfortable and the doctor gracefully dropped the questioning, unlike Kawaguchi though, who frowned harder.

"Uehara-kun, is Ito troubling you? Bad enough he's loading your schedule without checking with Takeda-sensei, if he's giving you additional trouble..."

"No, he's not!" Takafumi watched the younger man deny any problems with interest. Uehara was clearly not telling the whole truth but he couldn't be a terrible liar if the kendo senseis were accepting his story, as the three of them nodded. But maybe it was that bedside manner Riku accused him of having because to the doctor's experienced eye, Uehara was holding back quite a few things.

But, he sighed, it wasn't his place to grill him. Not yet anyway, he amended with a grin and something caught his eye. "Er, Uehara-san? I thought you told Tosaka-san to sit out practice?" Because the same guy whom Uehara had been concerned about was in full kendo gear and doing some rapid swings with a shinai, the bamboo sword whistling through the air. He wouldn't have intervened - it wasn't his place to - but he couldn't ignore it when he was aware the man might have a medical issue.

A heavy sigh confirmed his guess. "Tosaka, wh-shit!" Uehara sprinted to the fallen player, Takafumi right behind him.

He barely heard one of the sensei snapping instructions for the rest of the kendo players to give them space. Uehara had carefully removed his teammate's armour, a thanks murmured to a girl who quietly took them off of his hands. Tosaka was white, teeth clenched in pain but he nodded when Uehara asked him if it was his calf. "Felt something snap," Tosaka gritted out and Uehara exchanged a look with Takafumi.

The doctor inclined his head. "Thompson?"

"Thompson," Uehara agreed and together they turned Tosaka over. Uehara gently squeezed the left calf and frowned heavily when the foot failed to flex. "Damn," he sighed. The rest of the Thompson test he carried out made the frown deeper which didn't clear when he asked Takafumi to confirm and the doctor agreed with his unspoken assessment.

"Snapped Achilles," Takafumi concurred. "He'll need a hospital for a full check and surgery."

"Sorry, captain," Tosaka clenched his fists, forehead on the floor. "Should have listened to you."

"What's done is done," Uehara patted his back. "Let's get you to the hospital, alright?"

In short order, the kendo captain got transportation arranged ("Maa, I'll drive him," Takeda shrugged. "It'll give me time to lecture him for being stubborn."), another player to accompany them and himself accepting Hamaguchi's admonishment that he had to focus on their practice and that Tosaka didn't need him mother-henning when it was Tosaka's own fault for being foolish.

Takafumi watched it all unfold with a small smile on his face, still on his knees and only Riku caught the oddity.

"Sensei?" she frowned.

"Ah, I can't get up," he admitted with a sheepish grin and it wasn't a ploy to get Uehara's attention, much as he would have liked it. He could feel the muscles of his lower back twisting something fierce, no doubt unhappy with him for the sudden action.

Getting Uehara's concern focused on him though, was a definite bonus never mind that he could feel his legs going numb. Riku was quickly explaining his situation to the others while Uehara placed a gentle hand on his back and called for an ice pack.

"I'm sorry." Distracted by the shouts as practice went on around them, it took a while for Takafumi to realise Uehara was talking to him.

"Hm? Whatever for?" he frowned. The cramp was a steady pain, but manageable if not for how he didn't think his legs could hold him up.

"You probably stressed your back running like that earlier, and the impact against the floor." Uehara didn't meet his eyes, taking instead the wrapped ice pack from the same girl who had helped earlier. "Thank you, Maeda-san. Help lead their practice please? Nothing fancy, just the basics and renzoku waza."

"Yes, captain." The girl bowed briefly, gave Takafumi a smile and a wish for him to get better soon and it was just them, Riku by his side.

Takafumi nudged the other man's shoulder, and didn't let himself wince when Uehara placed the cold pack against his back. "Are you going to apologise too, for your Tosaka being a stubborn id—ah, stubborn?" His grin grew wider at the look Uehara gave him.

Uehara sighed. "Still. You came to ask me for help and you end up hurt. Not such a great testimony, is it."

"I don't know," he bantered back easily. "I saw how you acted without hesitation when someone got injured, assessed the situation calmly to determine your next step and applied the appropriate actions. I'd say that's the kind of physiotherapist I'd like to work with, and maybe someone I wouldn't mind getting to know better."

 _Our love was kind too, so kind_ , the voice said, mournful.  _So much kindness until hatred tore us apart. But we were wronged and we wronged each other and now we know, now we know. Is he our love?_

A slow blink, lashes thick and heavy and Takafumi tried to not let his grin grow to idiotic proportions.

"Riku said you could be pretty smooth when you want to," Uehara snorted.

"Like butter on a baby's bottom," he agreed readily. "How about this? We go out for drinks after classes, say around six? You, me and Riku. We get to know each other better, Riku gets to chaperone us and make sure everyone behaves and we decide whether we want to do this. My condition is not life-threatening," he gestured at himself, and gladly accepted Uehara's help to get to his feet slowly. "But it _can_ be annoying."

He blew out a sigh, gingerly tested his weight and relieved to find his legs able to hold him up. "Who knows, you might not want me as a client after you've heard how horrible my jokes are," he added, straight-faced.

He was rewarded with a laugh that was quickly muffled; Uehara shot his coach a guilty look when the sound caught Hamaguchi's attention. Riku, just behind Uehara's shoulder, mouthed silently, "Smooth, very smooth," and mimed throwing up.

"Alright, six it is," Uehara smiled, and nodded his thanks to Riku when she hooked an arm around Takafumi's elbow and promised to see the sensei safely to classes. "Riku-chan? Library steps?"

"Library steps. And the next time you see Professor Ito without me, _again,_ I will make you regret ever knowing me," she finished pleasantly.

A wince and another laugh, Uehara waved them goodbye and Takafumi sighed, seeing the bare back walk away from him.

"It's only eight hours until six p.m., sensei," Riku murmured.

"Ah, eight hours of loneliness, how will my heart take it?"

Her muffled laugh accompanied them all the way out of the dojo.

**To be continued**


	3. My Sorrow I Could Not Awaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, I was late updating, my apologies! Been a bad few weeks with a stupid viral infection that went around and knocked me flat. But here I am, and hopefully you enjoy this chapter!

**HARRY  
** _Now. The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England._

“I can’t believe our OWLs results aren’t here yet! What’s taking them so long?” Hermione’s indignation was lost amidst the hubbub of a standard Weasley breakfast. Only Ron paid attention and the redhead tried to calm her down while the twins had their heads close together, whispering furiously over their porridge. Sketches and half-finished plans were strewn across their side of table and a jab of George’s wand at one lit it on fire. A yelp and a hasty aquamenti and the twins were back at it again.

Percy’s attempt to lecture them about proper manners at the breakfast table got him a “Oh, sod off, mate” from Fred and with a huff, Percy ignored them. He propped up an unfortunately thick book on werewolf laws, grunting when Ginny stole his toast.

Harry watched it all with a vague smile, half-heartedly trying to make justice to his own breakfast. Molly Weasley’s cooking was amazing as usual but after last night, he didn’t think he dared to eat anything.

_Screams._

_Thick, oily smoke that choked the air and filled his lungs with fire. He didn’t know how long he had been trying to escape this nightmare, only that everywhere he turned, all he could see and breathe, were the smoke that smelled of dead, burnt things and sounds of pain and agony that were not his own._

_Harry cried out when another jot of electric pain flared through his scar, sending him to his knees and a woman screamed in his ear, too near and yet he couldn’t see anyone, felt nothing but heat and sharp things pressing into his flesh. The smoke was thicker now, more oily and it felt like it had gained actual weight that was pressing him down, suffocating him and Harry trashed, stumbled to his feet--_

_Oh God the screams._

_“Mercy, please, have mercy!”_

_He tripped over a root— no it was an arm don’t look don’t look no look who is it we have to tell Dumble—_

Harry had woken up with a soundless scream on the spare bed in Ron’s room, sweat-drenched with blind eyes and his scar burning. A breathless sob and the Boy Who Lived curled into a ball, tried to remember what he saw with a courage that most adults didn’t have but all he could taste, see, smell and feel was the smoke and he realised, the stench of burning bodies.

The young wizard was grateful he had thought to ask the twins for the silencing ward around his bed. Fred hadn’t wanted to do it, worried about why Harry needed it in the first place but a glance at George and he gave in. Harry thought, after the sobs had died down to panting, about sending Hedwig to Dumbledore. But what could he say?

_Dear Headmaster,_

_I dreamt about dead, burning bodies - at least, I hope they died before they got burned - and I think it’s Voldemort because my scar hurts. But I don’t know where this happened or if it’s another trick. I think Voldemort can control his side of the connection better now._

_Hope that was useful._

_Yours,_  
_H. Potter_

He snorted then, roused to reluctant, morbid amusement. Definitely useful. Not.

So the rest of the night was spent lying awake and trying to forget how burnt flesh smelt oddly like roasted pork.

Harry stirred his porridge and was decidedly grateful he skipped the kippers today..

“Are you alright, dear?”

Harry flinched, dislodging the gentle hand on his head and Molly stared at him, worried. He tried for a smile which he hoped looked okay. Maybe not, because the worry on the kindly woman’s face got deeper.

“I’m fine.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Really, I’m fine. Just had some trouble sleeping last night.”

“Oy, was it a...a vision?” Ron broke off from his attempts to placate Hermione and Harry blushed faintly when he got everyone’s attention.

“No,” he lied, and ignored how easy the lie came. “It was your snoring.”

“Hey! I don’t snore!”

Just like that, the rest of the Weasleys were distracted, except for Hermione, but Harry ignored her narrow glare with the ease of practice. “Look,” he pointed, with false cheer, to the kitchen windows. “Owl mail.”

That distracted Hermione but Harry knew he’d get cornered later in the day. Still, he wouldn’t begrudge small reprieves. He had a feeling he’d need all he could get.

Only one owl came through the window though; a jet-black eagle owl with wicked looking talons, and a band around one leg that indicated it was a Ministry owl. The bird carried only a single envelope with a black seal which it dropped on the butter bowl. Not even waiting for a treat, the owl flew off.

Everyone stared at the innocuous looking envelope, and even the twins realised something was off.

“Mum,” George started slowly as the seal started to spark. “Who uses a black seal for Ministry business?”

Molly stared at the seal with growing horror that was plain to see on her face. “Black...black seals are only used for the Minister’s death...or an emergency declaration...or war,” she answered.

A last spark and the envelope burned in an actinic white flash that made everyone flinch. Blinking away the afterimages, Harry realised that not sending anything to the Headmaster was a moot point.

The ashes formed a ghostly face that resembled Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“It is with great regret that we announce the death of Cornelius Fudge, the two hundredth and thirty-sixth Minister of Magic. Minister Fudge was assassinated today in the Ministry atrium by a group of terrorists who’ve identified themselves as Death Eaters.

For the safety of the public, a nationwide curfew is now in effect. No one is allowed out of their homes past 7 p.m. Anyone found outside after the stated hour and is not an auror or a Ministry staff with written permission from the DMLE will be arrested.”

The head dissolved into wisps of smoke and left behind dead silence, until it was broken by a small gasp.

“Harry.” Hermione pointed shakily to him. “Your...your scar. It’s bleeding.”

 

* * *

  
**KEN**  
_Two months ago. Osaka, Japan._

Ken tried not to look at the clock on his phone for the ninety-seventh time and failed, spectacularly.

Seven fifteen. Forty-five minutes past the time Utsuno-- ( _Takafumi, please, I insist_ ) Takafumi was supposed to meet him at Ichiran. They had planned on a few drinks first before dinner, at an all day seafood grill that was his favourite because the owner liked him enough to always give him first choice of the scallops and no one below the age of twenty-five went there. Great food, cheap alcohol and no other KanDai students to stalk him made the place heavensent for the kendo captain. The uni’s men and women’s team had won the district qualifiers, which meant they were well on their way for the All Japan Prefecturals in just two months’ time and their captain needed a break before the madness started all over again.

He had thought a nice dinner where he could unwind with good friends would be just the thing but Riku had given him a look when he suggested it while they waited for Takafumi to finish his last class yesterday. The Starbucks oddly empty despite it being a Thursday and nearing six in the evening, and he would have thought Riku had it planned that way, all the better to ambush him.

“Ken, you know you’re my best friend, right?”

Ambush, definitely an ambush.

Ken paused, cup raised halfway (the gods bless Starbucks and he didn’t care what anyone thought of his obsession with it) and raised an eyebrow at the sudden serious look the woman had. “It makes me nervous whenever you say that,” he informed Riku and she rolled her eyes.

“Am I, or am I?”

“You are.” Ken frowned. “That was a double positi--”

“Why don’t you ask him out on a date?”

Ken choked on air, and almost spilled his coffee. “What are you--”

“Takafumi,” Riku sighed, and offered him her napkin. “It’s only been what, six months since you guys met, I know, thanks to me. But you’ve been his physiotherapist for most of that time, you spend almost every day together, he made you call him by his first name--”

“He made you do it too!”

“--you’ve slept at his place three times already--”

Ken scowled at her, irked when it did nothing but made Riku snicker. “That was in his guest bedroom, every single time. And he’s slept at my place too, whenever our sessions run late. In my guest bedroom.”

“And,” she added serenely, “He wants you to join him on his next trip down to Tokyo for his monthly family dinner so he can introduce you to his family.”

He threw his hands up and refused to admit the way his stomach clenched a little at the reminder. Takafumi had sprang the offer on him earlier in the week, when he was focused on massaging a particularly tough knot of muscles in the older man’s lower back that had been giving him trouble during their last few sessions. He was trying to figure out what was causing it when Takafumi mentioned the monthly family dinners and how his mother had been concerned about him switching physiotherapists and before Ken realised it, he had said yes to the dinner invite and letting the Utsunomiya family meet him.

“It just means we’re becoming good friends, alright,” he grumbled, and tried to ignore the soft smile that graced Riku’s face.

“You’re such an idiot, Ken,” she sighed, but he heard the affection and understood it anyway.

Silence fell between them and he was reluctant to break it. He toyed with his empty cup instead until he heard the campus clock tower ring in the distant.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything,” he finally said, eyes trained on the spinning cup. “He doesn’t know that...that I’m...that I’m gay. I haven’t told him.” Ken couldn’t help the paranoia that made him check their surroundings but the Starbucks was still empty, the lone barista on duty at the far end of the counter and on her phone instead.

“If he doesn’t realise that you’re gay, Ken, he’s an idiot too,” Riku sighed. She tapped a finger on his hand; the gentle admonishment was enough. He looked up reluctantly.

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, you know,” she continued quietly, well aware of the man’s need to keep his private life just that - private. “And I like to think I have a good handle on him. He’s a good man. So are his family. It’s almost unreal, actually,” Riku sighed. “And you, you stupid kendo idiot, are one of the most important people in my life and I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy,” he gritted out, stung to the quick and damn if he could figure out why. What did he need to do to show people he was okay being on his own? Open an Instagram account, post sunset pictures and hashtag “blessed” and “grateful” every damn day?

“You _exist_ ,” she corrected him, voice sharp with reprimand. Ken looked away, and swallowed.

“Granted, you do the existing thing pretty well and fooled everyone but I’ve known you too long, Ken. And Takafumi can see it too.”

Ken inhaled, panic beating in his chest but Riku held up a hand to forestall the flood. “He doesn’t know, I didn’t tell him, but like I said, he’s not an idiot. All I’m saying is, Takafumi knows that there’s things you don’t want to talk about and he’s still there. Here, I mean,” she frowned. “You know what I mean.”

He couldn’t help the small chuckle, and the tension that had built in his shoulders slowly leached away. Ken rubbed his face, more weary than his admittedly light Thursday schedule warranted but he found the courage to say, “You think he likes me...that way?”

“Set that aside first.” Riku’s smaller hand closed around his wrist and gently tugged. He let her, and Riku smiled. “What’s important here is; do you like him? In that way?” she teased.

He groaned, head on the hand she held captive.

How the fuck could he not like the guy? Taller by an inch or two to Ken’s own (and he towered over most guys already with his five feet nine) and broad shoulders, the only reason the doctor wasn’t as fit as Ken was, was because of the accident. A month of solid rehab and recovery would do that to anyone but he had seen the hints of the former physique as Takafumi slowly started to gain back the mass and definition. Like Ken, the doctor was more lean muscles than bulk, thanks to regular karate and the gym, with Takafumi himself cheerfully admitting he fulfilled that stereotype of gay men (and what a way for the sensei to candidly admit his sexuality); he liked looking good.

More than the physical though, he _liked_ hanging out with the older man, godsdammit. He was funny, easy to talk to and he _listened_. Riku knew about his tendency to ramble about the most inane topics when class, kendo or Kodokai practice wasn’t consuming his waking hours but he had learned his lesson about letting anyone else discover that side of him. The one time he did with a senior who had asked him out for coffee in his second year, the man had given him a look and announced, “you’re weird,” and it hadn’t been a compliment.

But damn if Takafumi hadn’t gone along on his rambling journeys and gods, didn’t they spend a good thirty minutes last weekend arguing about tonkotsu versus miso ramen?

Wasn’t falling in lo-- _like_ supposed to be a little more dramatic? An immediate burning passion that was ignited at first glance, the first touch?

It can’t be just looking forward to seeing the guy, to spending hours together, listening to the hilarious, and sometimes heartbreaking stories from Takafumi’s medical work, to having the other man listen to him as if he was the only other person in the room when he talked about anything and everything, right?

Ken buried his face in his hands again. “Shit,” he swore, muffled and for the heck of it, swore again. “Shit.”

A soft laugh from outside the flimsy barrier his hands made against the world and again Riku was pulling him out of his temporary sanctuary. “I take that as a yes,” she said, more than amused. At her friend’s disbelieving glare, she held her own hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not going to tease you,” Riku promised, before her brown eyes turned serious. “But I don’t want you wasting time being afraid, Ken. I think he’s a good guy. And I think you’re a great guy. Together you can save the world.”

He rolled his eyes but the solemn joke got him out of his little panic. “Just give us tights and a cape, why don’t you,” he sighed and collected their empty cups to return them. The barista barely acknowledged it, still busy on her phone.

“So?” Riku prompted when he returned, and a glance outside the cafe showed Takafumi on his way, chatting amiably to a few classmates.

“I’ll ask him out for dinner tomorrow,” Ken agreed and tried to ignore how his heart tried to jump out of his chest as he watched Takafumi, and absently catalogued how the sunlight turned the man’s hair a reddish auburn.

A pleased smile from his best friend and a warning that she would want all the details and Ken found himself the next evening at the bar they were supposed to meet, and no Takafumi in sight.

 _He’s not here_ , he texted Riku and barely stopped himself from ending it with ten or more exclamation points. He thought three conveyed the urgency quite well.

 _Did he message or call you?_ Riku’s reply was swift; no doubt the girl was waiting by the phone for updates.

He checked again just in case. _No, nothing. It’s nearly an hour. Tried calling but he didn’t pick up._

_That’s not like him, right??_

“Shit, right, I’m an idiot,” Ken muttered. He threw down a yen note, and waved away the change before he bolted out of the bar. Takafumi’s apartment was just one stop away from the nearest underground; he’d be at the man’s place in under ten minutes.

Be okay, he prayed, and barely waited for the auto gates to open after waving his commuter pass. Please be okay.

* * *

**TAKAFUMI**

Takafumi decided, cheek pressed against the floor, that he could be pretty stupid for someone who was a medical doctor with one and a half Masters under his belt. He should have paid attention to the warning signs his body had given the entire day and he hadn’t.

It started out with a particularly stiff back when he woke up this morning, despite having religiously done the stretches Ken had prescribed him before going to bed the night before. A headache which had persisted after coffee and a couple of painkillers, lunch with Ken and Riku at their usual cafe before all three had to go for the respective classes they each taught and it was capped with a persistent numbness down his right arm.

But he was looking forward to tonight, dammit, like a lovesick fool. Ken had promised to take him to a favourite seafood place of his, away from the usual university crowd and this time without Riku. So he had ignored every sign like a true genius and he paid for it with a cramp so vicious, he collapsed at the entryway of his apartment just before their date (and he was going to call it a date even if it was just in the privacy of his besotted mind, thank you).

His phone had fallen out of reach of his hand, which even now trembled as if shook with palsy, the little metal and plastic bar mocking him from where it lay a few scant inches away from his fingers. Would Ken wait for him or thought he was stood up, Takafumi wondered, feeling mildly sorry for himself. And would Riku kill him for wasting the opportunity?

The doctor tried to force his body to move, managed to make his left foot twitch a little and that triggered another round of cramps. When it died down, Takafumi gasped for breath, unaware of the tears running down his face.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” His left leg felt like a leaden pipe and the man knew he wasn’t going to get off the floor anytime soon, or even tonight. Hopefully Ken would realise something was wrong and check on him tomorrow morning, Takafumi wished vaguely. In the meantime he could only be grateful that the cleaners had just come in yesterday and his floor was clean.

He didn’t know how long he had been on the floor, only that the headache had returned, and this time as a full-fledged migraine but gentle, warm hands cupped his cheek and a worried voice was assuring him that everything was going to be fine, that he was going to call an ambulance and—

“No ambulance,” Takafumi gasped, managing to grasp Ken’s wrist. Of course, Ken. He forgot he had given the other man an access card to his apartment since they regularly rotated his sessions between Ken’s place and his. The doctor smiled a little goofily up at the worried young man, even as his throat felt like the Sahara had taken up residence in it. “My family will get notified and my mom’s going to panic,” he winced. The shivering had stopped at least and his legs felt weak as jelly rather than blocks of wood he would have gladly chopped off. “I’m fine.”

A sigh that ruffled his sweat-dampened hair and strong arms slowly helped him upright in stages. First, draped over Ken’s arms like a fainting maiden, then to his liquefied knees and with glacial speed, up on his wobbly legs. Takafumi wasn’t above taking the chance to touch the other man when he was sure Ken wouldn’t mind it, but he had to admit that this time, it was purely out of necessity that he leaned heavily into the kendo captain’s arms, head pressed against a broad shoulder.

“Sorry,” he swallowed and wished the pressure would squeeze the migraine out.

“Stop apologising, you idiot,” was Ken’s warm murmur that sent shivers down his back which had nothing to do with his injury and everything to do with the muscled shoulder he was pressed against, and the strong arm around his lower back that gave support he badly needed without setting off another round of cramps.

“Migraine also?” Because Ken was observant, even if the younger man still refused to address whatever it was that steadily grew between them, day by day.

Takafumi grunted, and wondered if they could just stay like this. It was probably the farthest he’d ever get with Ken, he thought, pain making him a little glum and his inner Riku called him melodramatic.

Ken shouldered his weight easily, their near similar height not a hindrance and slowly, slowly, they made their way into his bedroom. He didn’t bother with the covers, not when the migraine pounded steadily away behind his eyeballs and barely noticed when Ken managed to manoeuvre him out of his coat. Takafumi did realise though, when Ken’s warm weight next to his hip made to get up and the doctor fumbled for the younger man’s hand, and got his wrist instead.

“Don’t go?” he asked, a little hopeful, but mainly refusing to contemplate the idea of spending the rest of his night alone when nightmares were sure to plague him. They always do, whenever he had migraines. Formless, dark demons that chased him and for what reason he could never remember in the morning.

He must have said it out loud, Takafumi realised, with a little, embarrassed laugh when Ken assured him that he wasn’t going anywhere, only to get him his painkillers and water.

When Ken had made him as comfortable as possible and the lights turned off, Takafumi could just barely make out the soft scrape of the armchair being pulled closer and the man mumbled a protest.

“No, here, chair not nice,” he protested, tried to turn to his side and triggered another round of cramps that had him panting into the pillow and, he realised with a vague victory, Ken in bed with him.

“That’s playing dirty, Taka...Takafumi,” Ken sighed but Takafumi could hear the smile in his voice and only snuggled closer, sprawled on top of the younger man. Clever fingers massaged tight muscles until he was pliable and limp and he sighed happily.

“Thanks,” he mumbled into Ken’s chest and answered, when the other man asked softly what it was for, “For being here. You feel nice, warm, I like it. I like you.” And with that accidental declaration that he was too tired to worry about, Takafumi fell asleep.

A sigh that broke the stillness of the dark bedroom and, filled with resignation and maybe even more than a hint of self-deprecating humour, “Dammit, Taka.”

* * *

**SEVERUS**  
_Now. Hogsmeade, Scotland._

Severus gritted his teeth, head bent to allow lanks of greasy and blood-matted hair to hide his face. No one along the main street of Hogsmeade bothered to pay him any mind, which was how he would have preferred it anyway but the always caustic pessimist in the Potions Master sneered at their blindness. A Death Eater, former or not, among the sheep and none of the fools thought to be wary.

The Hogwarts professor barely remembered about the aversion spell he had hastily woven on himself when he had apparated to the edge of town but he dismissed it. Better to wallow in the disgust. It helped him stay conscious and on his feet and damn Albus for extending the anti-apparition wards from the school gates right to the edge of Hogsmeade.

It made for better protection of the school and surrounding area but fresh after two weeks in Vol--the Dark Lord’s dungeons and he wanted nothing more than the strongest pain-killing potion he had in his labs and a week in bed.

But beggars, traitors and former double spies can’t be choosers so Severus soldiered on, ignorant of how he had started to drip blood halfway through Hogsmeade Square that negated his aversion charm and the frightened looks it garnered. No one tried to stop him, even Aberforth, the bartender eyeing him from the door of Hog’s Head before ducking back inside.

On any other day, the faint green flare that signaled a floo from the Hog’s grimy windows would have made him wary, but the Potions Master was near dead on his feet and only the very same stubbornness that Lucius Malfoy had more than once likened to a Gryffindor’s kept him going.

A little more, he commanded hazily to his feet, arms wrapped tight around his abdomen to help keep organs in their proper places. He seemed to be leaking a bit but Severus dismissed it as a less urgent concern compared to everything else. On nights when his torturers were Crabbe and Nott seniors, he would have preferred the Dark Lord’s Cruciatus. After all these years, he had perfected the method to survive the pain curse with sanity and body mostly intact. Trigger the madman in a certain way and he’d get a Crucio under a minute. The Dark Lord liked torture, yes, but he knew getting a Potions Master of Snape’s caliber was near impossible. So the dark wizard had always stopped short of permanent, lasting damage.

But that all went to hell in a handbasket when Silas was given a mission by the Dark Lord himself.

A mission to retrieve the lost Ravenclaw diadem from the depths of Hogwarts was given to Everius Silas, who had confided in Severus. They had known each other since their first days in the Death Eater ranks, both buying into the propaganda then, but not the tortures and wanton destruction. Each had wanted acknowledgment, and the power to stop the bullies in their lives. Snape; an abusive father and classmates and Silas; to protect his mother and sister when no one else would.

Both had puzzled over the urgency to retrieve the artefact. It had value, since it was a Founder’s, but the ability to enhance the wearer’s wisdom was hardly useful when there existed potions to achieve the same effect. They had theorised over what rituals or spells would benefit from the use of the Founders’ artefacts, since they knew of other Death Eaters sent to retrieve Slytherin’s locket from a disillusioned cave in the middle of Battersea and Hufflepuff’s Cup from Bellatrix’s Gringotts vault.

None from the Order could puzzle it out either, not even Dumbledore. Neither did the Light side have the resources to spare to puzzle it out. Fudge’s very public assassination just five months ago had thrown the Wizarding world into chaos. Pius Thicknesse, a Pureblood that no one had anticipated somehow got himself elected as interim minister by the Wizengamot through an archaic law that had last been used over a hundred years ago. Their ignorance of Thicknesse came at a price; the Minister was quick to enforce the emergency curfew Bones had implemented and one by one, members of the Wizengamot followed Fudge to their own graves until the bare few left didn’t dare breathe without the Minister’s permission.

Albus had been stripped of his Chief Warlock title, suspected Order members or sympathisers in the Ministry found themselves confined to desk jobs and literal paper-pushing, authority stripped and given instead to a selected Minister’s Council that consisted of Lucius Malfoy, Corban Yaxley, the Carrow brothers and Antonin Dolohov.

It was a gamble, and a stupid one in hindsight, but the speed that Voldemort had taken over the Ministry rattled Albus and Severus reluctantly admitted, himself. So he had agreed to the plan to steal the artefacts and pin the blame on the Order. Vance volunteered to be the one to ostensibly steal the artefacts and lead the Death Eaters on a merry chase with Severus helping her. But both of them had underestimated the protections placed around the items in the Dark Lord’s private study and Vance had been immediately killed.

Nott Sr. was more than happy to inform him, after the hot irons and pincers, that his loyalty had been suspect from the beginning. Why else was he sidelined when they had stormed the Ministry of Magic and strung Cornelius Fudge’s bloated corpse on the golden fountain for all to admire?

But Severus Snape was a survivor, and a man used to doing the worst to keep breath in his body because he needed to be alive to finish repaying all his debts and sins. Two weeks in the dungeons, visited by the Dark Lord, Crabbe and Nott Seniors, of playing weak and frightened while the spelled oils he had secreted in a false tooth and managed to spit on to both torturers did its work, and Silas played his part.

Fourteen nights later, when Crabbe and Nott were caught in the slow coiled spell of a haunting, and Silas had drugged a lazy guard with Firewhisky, Severus made his escape.

Gods he was so tired.

He would have fallen, just past the winged boar gates of Hogwarts but someone caught him and helped shore up his trembling legs.

“Potter,” he slurred, never mind the strings of red saliva that dripped on the younger wizard’s robes. “Fool, why reveal your...yourself so.”

“Professor, welcome back.” Potter ignored him as usual, the foolish child, but he wasn’t a child anymore was he? The arms that stopped his inevitable slow slide to the cold ground had wiry strength, even if it didn’t have the bulk yet to show it, and the voice was changing from a youth’s clear tone to the husky timber of a young man, a man that Lily will never be able to be proud of.

_I am so sorry, Lily._

The feeling of being back in Hogwarts, his last home, sapped the rest of Severus’ meager strength and Potter or not, he gladly allowed the younger man to shoulder the rest of his weight.

“Professor, stay with me,” came the urgent plea and a hurried thank you when someone - Granger? - got him off his feet with a mobilicorpus. The change in angle weakened the grip he had around his abdomen and suddenly Severus felt a lot of things started to leak out.

“Shit, quick, to the hospital wing and get the Headmaster!”

Severus knew no more.

* * *

**TATSUMI**  
_Two years, and twenty days ago. Kyoto, Japan._

Tatsumi stared at the blackened wall as if it had personally offended him, and frowned. He barely noticed when Tsuzuki let out a little sound of fright at his expression, the taller man edging away discreetly.

He did notice though, when Watari elbowed the older shinigami, rolled his eyes and joined him at the offensive wall. Watari himself had asked Tsuzuki to join them, as additional backup when this case had landed on their desk. The purple-eyed shinigami and his empath partner, Kurosaki, were lucky to be assigned to Kyushu; the area saw little demonic or unusual activity and with the empath holed up in the Shokan library helping the Gushoushin implement a new filing system, Watari took the opportunity to drag Tsuzuki along. The older reaper might be mildly terrified of Tatsumi (hard to, when Tsuzuki was a walking disaster area and a constant threat to Tatsumi’s carefully maintained department budget) but he packed the strongest firepower of anyone in the division.

“It’s a serial killer,” the blonde scientist announced, and nodded at his own pronouncement. “We can’t deny it any longer. The pattern fits the other murders, the victims are all roughly the same age span and the method is the same.”

“You don’t think you’re jumping to conclusions?” the secretary asked, curious. Another shinigami who didn’t know Tatsumi that well might have bristled, but the blonde had worked with the man for over three years and merely shrugged affably.

“Nah, this is what, the thirteenth and fourteenth victim already?” Watari marked it off on his fingers. “All victims were male, between the ages of twenty to thirty-five. Homosexual or bisexual but not heterosexual--”

“Watari-san!”

The scientist stifled a snort of amusement. Tsuzuki might be head over heels in love with Kurosaki but the man was born in the era where modesty was outraged if you even mentioned the word ‘sex’ outside of the bedroom.

“--and the last six victims including these two were established life partners, which means he’s evolving. All of their souls were cursed with variations of the same binding spell that I still can’t decipher and we have had to destroy all of them,” he finished grimly. Soul destruction was the last resort for a reaper. It meant the spirits would not be granted the salvation of final death or the just punishment of Enma’s Courts. It meant total, and complete annihilation of the soul.

The wall that Tatsumi had found so offending was the result of such. They had materialised on Chijou, the mortal plane, when Count Hakushaku had noticed that Kobayashi Takeru and Saito Yuki’s names had appeared on the Death Registry but their souls never arrived in Meifu for processing. Tatsumi, Watari and a Tsuzuki still munching on this morning’s breakfast donut had gone straight to the souls’ last known location; Kobayashi’s apartment, and had found two maimed corpses and the spirits of both men in full throes of agony as a malevolent curse snaked through their spirit forms.

The tortured souls were reduced to screaming wraiths that deafened them, exuding a poisonous, but invisible to humans, black aura that had started to seep into the walls and caused the neighbour’s baby to wail in fear. Kobayashi and Saito had lost their identities by then, stuck on a tortuous loop of pain as the curse, which had frustrated both Watari and Tsuzuki, the Shokan’s best onmyouji to unravel, did something to their souls.

Watari and Tsuzuki had set up containment to minimise the wraiths’ influence on the mortal plane and both men had tried to reason with the spirits, despite knowing the futility. When Saito tried to decapitate Watari after a failed cleansing, Tatsumi had stepped in and with cool efficiency, wielded his inborn gift of shadows to smother the fires of the curse. In that split-second of clarity when the curse was strangled to quiescent stillness, the spirits reduced to weak, shivering vapours, Tsuzuki obliterated their souls.

Watari and Tatsumi made no mention of the grief so stark in the taller reaper’s eyes. All shinigami shared the burden when a soul was unable to be rescued but Tsuzuki bore the burden the heaviest, the longest-serving shinigami of all of them.

“A serial killer,” Tatsumi agreed, softly, and even Watari felt a frisson of reflexive fear down his spine. “This escalates the severity and urgency, gentlemen.” The kagetsukai turned to face his two colleagues, hazel-jade eyes dark with more than just gathered shadows. “A serial killer who’s intruding on Lord Enma’s territory is of high priority.”

“What are—“ Tsuzuki coughed, a blush on the taller man’s cheeks when Tatsumi fixed his cool regard on the reaper. “What are we going to do?”

“Department meeting, obviously,” was Tatsumi’s dry reply and Watari let out a chuckle. “After I inform Enma’s Own. The Heralds will inform us whether he will want a personal briefing but we will need to reassign everyone’s caseload.” At the edges, the secretary’s form started to waver, the beginnings of his relocation back to Meifu. “Tsuzuki, I’m assigning you, Kurosaki-kun and Watari to this case. Find the killer; I’ll clear it with Konoe but expect to be given full authority to use whatever means necessary.”

So surprised were the two of them by that order, their chorused “Understood,” came too late, the secretary gone from the mortal plane.

Watari ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. “I’ve never killed a mortal,” he said to the wall, quietly.

A warmth at his side as Tsuzuki shuffled closer and an arm hugged him. “Hopefully it won’t come to that,” the shinigami answered in a just as quiet voice.

The scorch marks of two souls destroyed mocked his morality and Watari shuddered. It could have been him, the soot said. It could be anyone.

“But better that, than more souls gone.” Watari squared his shoulders and gave Tsuzuki a wan smile. “C’mon, let’s go back and drag Hisoka-kun away from the library. We got work to do.”

“Ne…” Tsuzuki asked, curious, as they too opened the way back home. “Do you think Tatsumi will let us claim overtime?”


	4. My Heart to Joy at the Same Tone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **NOTE:*** I've made slight edits in the earlier chapters, for Ken and Takafumi's scenes, that does impact the story so do refresh yourself with the earlier chapters ok? 
> 
> In which Voldemort is smarter, and we have porn. Ahem. Also, please note that at this point onwards, I'm completely disregarding the HP timeline and will be using the characters as I see fit. The only thing that remains, unfortunately, is that Sirius Black still fell through the Veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies for breaking my promise and not delivering the chapters as fast as I said I would. Honestly, I've been having problems with being consistent and letting procrastination take over. Add on the whole shelter in place thanks to Covid-19 and well...but I'm slowly getting the hang of being on schedule! And I've made a Twitter account where you can follow for updates, or to gently harrass me about updates.
> 
> I'll be posting there too on my progress. Find me on twitter.com/fallandrinse and I'll post on my Twitter pictures from the KanDai campus from when I was last there.

**_KEN_ **

_Now. Osaka, Japan._

“Please tell me you didn’t,” Ken groaned into the table which he currently had his face nestled against. It was a comfortable table, he thought, vague in the haze of alcohol-induced numbness, if one ignored the years of beer stains. It was solid, sturdy, and offered him a place to hide his flaming red face. 

He congratulated himself for being too drunk to care about the sanitary condition of a bar table, but Prefecturals were next week, two of his best fighters were injured and had to be benched, Professor Ito’s creepiness had reached new levels and Taka— _Takafumi_ , he scolded himself silently, looked too good in his gray sweater and jeans that showed off his ass all too well. He _deserved_ to get drunk, dammit.

“I did,” was the object of his mortified desire’s need to get smashingly drunk in their favourite izakaya. The doctor sounded too gleeful at what promised to be another embarrassing potential confrontation in Ken’s future. “It’s her fault anyway for asking if we’re dating - when the masses have a preconceived notion in their heads, why fight it?”

Ken peered up from his comfortable table enough to level a glare on an unrepentant Takafumi who toasted him with a fresh pint of beer. “How is confirming to one of my regular stalkers that I might be gay with one of my closest friends in any way helpful to my health? Or sanity,” Ken added, gloomily.

“But you _are_ gay,” Takafumi pointed out and got a “not so loud!” in return. “We’ve known each other for almost a year, Ken, and I have never seen you date a woman. Which means your stalkers know as well. Granted, you don’t even date any guys but even if I didn’t know, I would have suspected. Better to put your fan club out of their misery and get you off of their radar.”

The kendo captain snorted at the table and finally gave it up as a lost cause. Slumped back in his seat, Ken squinted tender eyes against the already dim light of the salarymen’s bar. The izakaya was far from campus grounds, and down a little-known alley off the main road; the only KanDai students to ever come here were himself, Takafumi and Rika, so he felt safe in saying, “You’ll hurt your chances of finding someone,” and he was rather proud that his voice didn’t waver. “That’s why you extended your paper for another term, wasn’t it?”

A year ago he wouldn’t have expected to be doing an almost-confession in a bar to another guy, much less a scion of a reputable family like the Utsunomiya. But the damn sensei had a way of worming into his life and making him do things he would never thought he’d do. Not that that didn’t stop him from pretending that the night spent in the same bed with the object of his fervent crush ever happened, even when he woke up with an erection pressed against Takafumi’s thigh. _Especially_ when he woke up with a fucking _erection_ gods, he had scrambled out of bed so fast, he fell in an undignified heap and woke up a distinctly confused Takafumi who asked him why he slept on the floor.

Remembering that mortifying incident just made Ken knock his head against the tabletop again and got a “stop abusing that handsome face please,” from Takafumi. Ken snorted, and with the ease of long practice ignored the way his insides clenched. That annoying voice at the back of his head reminded him with aggravating cheer that the warm yellow lights of the bar softened the sharp edges of the other man’s face, made him look wistful for a split second.

He shoved that traitorous voice down a deep hole and piled a tonne of bricks on it. He wasn’t willing to risk having someone else walk away from him, it wasn’t worth the pain. _It wasn’t_. Ken cleared his throat roughly, downed the rest of his beer and called for another.

Takafumi waited until a cold pint was placed in front of Ken and said, “I already found someone."

He coughed and waved away Takafumi’s concern. “I’m fine,” he gritted out and refused to meet the doctor’s eyes. When the _fuck_ did that happen and why didn’t he know? “Who is he?”

“A friend,” was Takafumi’s soft reply. “A very good friend who’s been a bit of a stubborn idiot. That’s why I extended; so I could have more time to convince him to let me in.”

Ken froze, hand clenched tight on his pint. “Which...which friend?” He tried, and got a rude snort in return.

“Don’t play dumb, Ken,” Takafumi replied, wry and a hint of pain threaded through. The younger man winced, and wondered why he ached at having been the reason to cause the sensei to sound like that. A hand, slightly larger than his own, reached across and except for the slightest hesitation, closed around his that was locked tight on his glass of beer. The warmth, Ken noted dimly, was almost scorching. Or maybe that was just him.

“I don’t usually do these kinds of things.” The laugh that escaped the sensei was a little embarrassed, but the sincerity couldn’t be denied. “I’m too used to people wanting me for my family name and money. So I never say anything, not until I know for sure they wanted _me_ and not my family. But—“ his hand squeezed Ken’s, “You didn’t even realise who my family were.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, mortification causing a tide of red to flood his cheeks. “Do you have to keep reminding me of that?” he grumbled, ears warm. So he was a little slow in connecting that Utsunomiya Takafumi and the Utsunomiya group of hospitals were the same - it had taken him a good four months to actually make the connection, when half the time he was trying not to stare too long whenever the other man stripped to change before their rehab sessions.

“I could…” he swallowed, looked everywhere except across the table where light hazel eyes waited to capture his. “I could be one of them, you know,” he tried, awkward, and finally screwed up more courage than he had ever needed, almost as much as when he was nine and— _no not now dammit_ —and ordered his hand to let go of the sweating mug. He managed to, and trembling a little, turned his hand to grasp the sensei’s. He could have melted into the table with relief when the sensei gripped him back, warm and tight.

The bar could have been another world away for the both of them. The noise of drunken laughter, boisterous chatter and the clink of glasses were a safe cocoon instead that sheltered them in their own bubble. Long, clever fingers, a doctor’s hands, caressed his palm and Ken felt his heart rate triple.

“We’ve only known each other for a year, Ken,” Takafumi was saying, eyes intent on his and Ken couldn’t look away. “But I think I can safely say I know you, and that you don’t give a damn about my family name.”

“I don’t,” he agreed, faintly, as the blood rushed in his ears. Gods, why was he like this?

“So, Ken...would you..would you do me the honour of going out with me, to see if we can turn this into something more?”

Ken knew he was at a precipice. This was what the previous months had led to; the late nights over beer or sake, in his home or Takafumi’s, the times in the library while each poured over research papers and compared notes. Even the moments when Takafumi had slung an arm over his shoulders when a girl or a guy had come on too strong and Ken having said no as gently as possible too many times and stuck figuring out how to turn down the propositions without coming across as rude. Somehow a smile from the sensei was enough to stop the persistent proposals and a glance at the arm that had tightened perceptively and they backed down, disappointment clear. The loss of that hug, no matter how brief, had always left him a little bit colder than before.

But he could take the safe way out. Hadn’t he always? When even relatives, aunts and uncles had only wanted him for an inheritance that could never be theirs, when men and women both had asked to be part of his life but had only wanted the physical and never _him,_ emotional baggage and all.

Safe was getting tiring though. And lonely. And Takafumi saw him, past the masks of geniality and half-smiles, and he hadn’t turn away.

A kendo match and life was about risks, wasn’t it? This was just another risk, chancing a strike when the opponent’s guard was down, although in this case Ken felt decidedly at the receiving end of an impending and inevitable attack with how hard his heart beat in his ears.

It was all in his head but he thought he heard the sound of bricks crumbling away and a smug voice telling him _I told you so_.

Ken squeezed Takafumi’s hand and chanced a smile that only trembled a little at the corners. “Yes,” he huffed, “Yes I want to try. With you,” he qualified and damn him for a fool because his stomach did a little flip and he couldn’t stop the bark of laughter when Takafumi did a quiet victory pump.

“Thank you, for trusting me.” The smile Takafumi gave him warmed Ken, more than could be accounted for the beer and Ken had the feeling that he was well and truly a goner.

_Our love, our love has returned._

* * *

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

_Now, Wizengamot Session No. 457, Lower Dungeons, Ministry of Magic of the United Kingdom, Unknown Location._

“Honourable Ministers,” Albus began, nothing of the dread that curdled his stomach seen in his face or bearing. A lesser wizard or witch might have found cause to take pause, as twenty-five pairs of eyes of the legally most powerful members of the ruling government bore down on them, but Albus had faced both Grindelwald and Voldemort. He may stand in the supplicant’s booth when he used to sit among his peers, but that was when his peers didn’t consist of Dark Wizards, Voldemort’s Inner Council and those still alive and not yet worth killing.

“Honourable Ministers, I stand as a concerned member of the wizarding public to entreat you to reconsider the Internal Security Act. Such an Act goes against the basic rights of our society; the freedom of speech and thought. What are we, if not individuals with hopes and dreams that together make up the greatness of our people.” The wizard rested his hands lightly against the worn balustrade of the stand, calm and still even as ghost light shone down from above, leaving him the lone actor on the stage. 

He had been given fifteen minutes to lay out his case against the recently tabled Act that would give Aurors complete authority to arrest and detain, _for any length of time_ , anyone suspected of fomenting dissent or terrorist agenda. It was a brilliant countermove by Riddle against the Order, and the old wizard felt a frisson a fear deep in his gut at this change in strategy.

Where before Voldemort had been a brutal fist of might and magic, this new tactic of a knife between the ribs in the dead of night, of crippling even the ability to speak freely was poison in the mead in comparison. Slower, more cunning, more _Slytherin_.

Pius Thicknesse, current Chair and Britain’s Interim Minister of Magic, smiled and it wasn’t a nice smile.

“Your care for your fellow wizards are well known, Mr. Dumbledore,” Thicknesse began, and a distant thought in Albus’ mind wondered that the taint of the Dark Mark didn’t show in the man’s aura or bearing. Perhaps he was one of the Unmarked, the select few trusted to be Riddles’ weapons out in the world? With the ease of years, he set aside the flare of frustration at losing his most valuable source of Voldemort’s plans and schemes. Severus barely survived their latest scheme and even now lay in a spelled coma to allow recovery.

He also let the lack of title pass him by; he wasn’t besotted with them to demand their use in any and every setting, even if he mourned the ability to help steer the course of government. That frustration warmed his bones even as the cold air of the dungeons were barely held back by the flickering torches. Albus ignored the discomfort with the bigger threat in front of him, wearing plum robes and a politician’s smile.

Thicknesse continued, “But recent events have shown that Britain requires a firm hand to guide her journey through these troubled times. Why—“ hands raised in mock surrender, beringed with agate and bloodstone. “—my own predecessor found his demise in these very halls. If that is not a call for stronger action against the forces determined to disrupt the peace of our world, then what is?”

“I do not deny the need for action, Honourable Chair,” he protested mildly, only the slightest twitch of his wand hand betraying him. Thicknesse though, noticed, and the man’s smile grew. “But to blanket our society with fear of retribution for merely voicing dissatisfaction and the like? Wh—“

“Are you of the opinion that the Ministry is unable to differentiate between common bar gossip versus actual threats to the safety and security of our country, Dumbledore?” Lucius Malfoy showed no remorse for his interruption, cool gray eyes shuttered and blank. The Interim Head of the Aurors could have been a marble statue, and his superior next to him, Amelia Bones, merely a mannequin. 

Albus made a gesture that said nothing and everything; he ignored how the Aurors stationed by the doors tensed, and subsequently relaxed at a flick of Malfoy’s hand. “I trust in the Ministry’s competency—“ Oh, how that lie curdled on his tongue! “—I fear instead the backlash it would engender against the Ministry and the Wizengamot, that we react with fear rather than solidarity.”

 _“Supplicant Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’s slot with the Wizengamot is now over,”_ a pleasant, androgynous voice rang throughout the dungeon and the torches started to glow brighter. _“The Council will now present its decision to the Supplicant.”_

With the return of illumination, Albus could see that half the audience pews were filled, and few he recognised from both local and international press. Even more he knew as Death Eaters, those who were slippery enough to escape the fallout from the breaking of Voldemort’s first reign of terror. The rest were Ministry employees, as far as he could gather and the old wizard could see the apprehension on their faces. This Act, if it passed, would mean a new beginning that he wasn’t sure any of them were ready for.

Pius Thicknesse flicked his wand; no attempt to even pretend to have a discussion with his peers made. “Supplicant Albus Dumbledore; your voice has been heard. The Wizengamot appreciates your candour and diligence to your civic duty. However, the Ministry must uphold the needs of the many, over the few. For the greater good of our society.”

Albus closed his eyes, shoulders bowed.

“The Internal Security Act will be enforced in two months’ time, with the beginning of the new year, to allow proper dissemination and notification to all the people. The Wizengamot is dismissed.”

* * *

**HARRY**

_Now, the halls of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ninth floor, east wing._

Harry ran.

The cold stones of the castle threw back echoes that multiplied and amplified, until his pursuers sounded an entire herd rather than just two seventh years with oddly blank faces and _Avada Kedavra_ on their wandtips.

Harry ran. 

His sneakers pounded down the hallway, his breath loud but steady in his ears. A chance need for some air before his Housemates woke up had seen the young wizard in the owlery with Hedwig, the snowy owl giving him a sleepy greeting. Surrounded by warm feathers and the gentle swish of a cleaning spell, Harry felt the last of the formless nightmare that had him scrambling awake before sunrise slowly drain away.

He couldn’t even tell if it was an actual nightmare or a vision; both were equally horrific and robbed him of any rest with equal measure.

“Hey girl,” Harry sighed, a faint smile beneath bruised eyes as the owl buffeted his head with large, gentle wings. Hedwig started to preen his hair, mild scolding at the mess the young wizard’s bedhead was. “I know, I know, I--”

“Potter.”

Harry turned, wand falling into his hand without conscious thought and Hedwig shielded behind him. “Bradley. Chambers,” he noted with surprise. Both were Ravenclaw’s Chasers but had never gone beyond a respectful nod at games, and acknowledgment in the hallways. 

Harry paused and unease trickled down his spine. Both Chasers stayed quiet, eyes oddly intent on him and wands in hand. He flexed his grip on his holly wand and Hedwig hissed. That settled it for the wizard; he never doubted the owl’s ability to judge characters and her warning had him diving to the side. And not a moment too soon - twin green flares splashed the stones where he had just stood, monotone _Avada Kedavra_ a late echo.

Imperius, Harry concluded grimly, and spared a thanks to whatever listened that the two Chasers ignored Hedwig who tried to dive bomb them to chase him instead. He ran down the Owlery stairs, and yelled at Hedwig to find help even as he led his would-be assassins away from the one family he had left.

The young wizard had no more room to spare to think then; instinct guided him and had him turn down sudden corners and corridors as his would-be assassins chased him. The castle felt his distress, stones rumbled and a gargoyle stepped aside to reveal a shortcut to another corridor. Harry took it without hesitation but so did his pursuers. Bradley almost managed to snag a corner of his sweater but years of Dudley had Harry twist and turn in one smooth motion that got him rid of the sweater and left him clad only in his shirt and jeans.

More flashes of the Killing curse marked his desperate run as his lungs burned and legs threatened to give out. He had no breath left to call for help; Harry’s foot slipped on a raised ledge. With a cry, he tried to turn as he fell, sure that this would be the end as both seventh years raised their wands again, tips lit with a sickly green glow.

But he didn’t meet cold, hard stone. An arm and billowing black robes caught him instead, and a furiously calm _Stupefy_ cast in rapid succession stopped his attackers. They fell to the floor like boneless dolls, with no one to cushion their fall.

“Are you hurt?”

Harry clutched at the arm that had saved him, wheezed and managed to shake his head no. But— “Hedwig!” He gasped.

A soft hoot answered him and the snowy owl fluttered down, unharmed. And his saviour?

“Professor Snape.” For once, he didn’t choke out the title but he might never know if the Potions Master appreciated it. Sure that the young wizard wasn’t going to die on him, the older man unceremoniously let him drop. The thump of his butt against the floor elicited a laugh out of Harry, one that had more exhaustion in it than hilarity. Of course Snape would drop him like a hot potato. But still.

“Thank you, professor.”

A grunt was his only reply. Snape only spared him another cursory glance as he quickly bound the two unconscious assassins with conjured rope, their mouths gagged to prevent spellcasting. The sallow man looked even more sickly with the last month spent in the Hospital wing, secure under the Headmaster’s strongest spells while the tortured wizard recovered from Voldemort’s attentions. It begged the question why Hedwig had gone to him, and not Dumbledore but, Harry glanced at Hedwig, and the owl merely gave a soft hoot in return, he wasn’t going to get an answer there.

“Getting more popular, are we Potter?”

“Deadly popular,” the wizard quipped, head between raised knees and missed the sideways glance that earned him from the Potions Master.

“Come, the Headmaster will need to hear of this and we must investigate the perpetrator behind this latest attempt.”

“Voldemort, who else?”

Harry found himself on his feet, near tiptoes and Snape’s bony fingers digging into his cheek. “ _Don’t_.” Harry’s breath caught in his throat, at the stark fear reflected in the other man’s eyes that echoed his own, when he laid in a four poster bed surrounded by other boys who didn’t need to save the world.

Maybe Snape did see it himself, because the man shook him off, and didn’t quite manage to hide the wince as the movement pulled something that probably shouldn’t have been pulled. Without waiting to see if Harry followed, Snape set off, the stunned would-be assassins floating behind.

“Come on girl,” Harry sighed, and the snowy owl settled on his shoulder with a soft reprimand. “Yeah, after this, alright? Bacon fresh from the kitchen.”

Bacon and assassins, the young wizard snorted quietly. Just another day in the life of The Boy Who Bloody Wished He Didn’t Live.

* * *

**TAKAFUMI**

_Now, Osaka, Japan._

Five months, Takafumi thought in sleepy bliss, the body he hugged tugged closer, the better to fit against him. Ken let out a soft murmur before burrowing deeper into his pillow and coincidentally, pushing his ass against Takafumi’s crotch and ensuring the doctor considered other options than sleeping in. It was still early morning, no more than seven said the bedside clock and gentle light streamed through the gaps in the blinds, and painted Ken’s skin a pale amber that begged to be touched and stroked.

The older man pondered the idea of a pleasant awakening for Ken; the kendo captain had been even more stressed recently the closer they got to the All Japan National Kendo Championships for universities. For a lot of his team mates, it meant the chance to be scouted and recruited for the national team, a pretty damn high honour that could open the doors to better jobs for them. Ken didn’t focus on that for himself though; the younger man somehow decided it was his responsibility to make sure his team would shine in the competition next week and up went his stress, coupled with it being his final year Master’s and Professor Ito being Ito.

At the thought of the dean, the man frowned, grip tightened and Ken grumbled in sleepy protest which he hushed with a kiss to the back of his neck. Takafumi had taken to accompanying Ken for every meeting the dean called for, to the point that the professor gracefully acquiesced and extended an invitation to Takafumi by default. It didn’t mean the meetings were any less pleasant for his partner though and Takafumi couldn’t blame him. He didn’t feel the same level of instinctive fear and revulsion Ken seemed to, but he couldn’t deny that the hairs on the back of his neck stood at frigid attention the longer he spent time with the dean, nor the way his stomach curdled a little at every chance touch.

And for a Japanese, the dean seemed to touch them _a lot_.

Nothing overtly sexual, nothing predatory that he could use to throw the man out of the university using the considerable weight and clout his family’s reputation had, just mere accidental brushes of the hand or a light grip on the arm, but each touch made his instincts scream, enough that he had agreed with Riku, lips thinned with grim determination, that no one sees the man alone, much less Ken. The one time Ken had been dragged to see Ito without either of them and came back white and shaking, and no clue why he was reacting so badly, Takafumi had locked him in the apartment for a solid day. Ken had grumbled initially, but the way he had given in so readily and the reluctance he showed to even step out of the door the next day showed he had needed it.

A distraction, Takafumi thought with a grin to himself. Ken needed it, and he needed it. Better if they de-stressed first before the trip to Tokyo later for dinner with his family and the competition the next day at the Budokan.

“Ken, wake up,” he whispered into soft skin before he bit down, lightly and started suckling. Ken jerked in surprise, the gasp turned into a moan that _did_ things to Takafumi’s insides when the older man started stroking the slowly hardening bulge underneath the thin cotton of Ken’s pants. It didn’t take long before Ken’s cock was hard and weeping, and he tugged at the waistband impatiently. Takafumi helped to draw out the aching length and rewarded Ken with a sharper bite to the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” Ken groaned, and bared his neck further for the sensei, even as he protested. “That’s...going to-- _fuck_ \--leave marks you asshole.”

“Mm,” Takafumi agreed, and a sharp tug of his hand had Ken giving a strangled scream. That brought down the last barriers to his self-will; Takafumi blessed his foresight to sleep in the nude last night (how was it that the younger man was still shy about doing the same when they made love almost every night anyway, and ended up naked?) and quickly rolled Ken over to his stomach, letting his own weight press Ken down into the mattress, unable to even rock against the yielding mattress to get relief.

“Fuck fuck fuck Taka _\--dammit fuck me already!”_

“Such a filthy mouth,” Takafumi murmured into the pale curve of an ear, and bit. Ken froze and the sensei could just imagine the way his eyes would have widened, irises a gorgeously pale hazel that to his fanciful mind, seemed to shine at times. The older man had discovered that the kendo captain had a wonderful weakness when it came to his ears, and made the most beautiful expressions when he toyed with it - he also blessed his foresight at coaxing Ken recently into a long, drawn out session on the living room floor, where he had a full length mirror and had gotten to witness those amazing expressions Ken made in the reflection. His instincts, when it came to Ken, were sometimes scarily accurate, but that didn’t matter to the sensei.

He was in love, that he had accepted easily months ago, and knew with gut-solid certainty that Ken loved him back, even if Ken  was reluctant to say the words out loud, fear of the past clamping his mouth shut on the actual words.

Even now, a full body shiver made its way through Ken and he was pushing his ass back, trying to ground it against Takafumi’s weeping length that slid easily between the cracks, teasing and not enough for the desperate man.

“Taka,” Ken moaned, fists clenched tight in the beddings. _“Please!”_

He shushed the man gently, pressing down again until Ken had calmed down before he reached for the bedside drawer where they kept their stash of lubricants and condoms. But in a surprising turn, Ken grabbed his wrist before he could tear open a packet.

“No, no condoms, I want to feel you,” he said quickly and Takafumi’s heartbeat tripled, even as his penis swelled to almost painful hardness. Ken shuddered at the feel, and there was only desperation as they both tugged and swore until Ken’s pants were a crumpled heap on the floor and he had the other man on his back, legs drawn up and hotter than any porn he had ever watched.

Takafumi was pretty sure his brain had short circuited though when Ken then stole the lube from him to coat his own fingers and reached underneath his legs to prepare himself with ruthless efficiency. It was too short a prep though, Takafumi knew that because all too soon Ken had pulled his fingers out and swiped just a thin layer of gel on Takafumi’s erection before he tossed the lube aside. 

“Are you sure,” the sensei gasped, and his own control slipped, the head of his cock nudging and nudging against Ken’s entrance. The lubricant wasn’t enough, the sensei frantically reminded himself even as he pushed and pushed until the head popped through the tight ring of muscles and the both of them froze, and sweat dripped between them.

Ken groaned, muscles clamping down on the older man and Takafumi could have wept. _This is it_ , the voice whispered in his mind after so long a silence and Takafumi could only agree. _This is where we belong. Our love our love, so long we have looked for you._

“I’m sure,” Ken gasped, a tremulous smile on the face he could stare at for eternity and not find it wanting. Ken pushed down, bringing the other man in even further and that was the invitation Takafumi needed. He pushed back and sank in deep with a smooth slide that stole their breath.

With a gentleness that belied the raging need to pound into the other man nonstop until the both of them exploded into pieces, Takafumi pulled Ken’s bottom into his lap and leaned into the younger man until Ken was nearly folded in half. A breathless laugh escaped Ken and they kissed, frantic before he started to move.

Long, slow strokes at first that let Ken feel every inch, and allowed him to get used to the burn. On the next push, Takafumi hit a rounded bump and Ken gasped, fingers digging into the man’s biceps. 

The next thing he knew, Takafumi found himself pounding into Ken with no finesse, only fervent, soul-wrenching need that Ken echoed back with every shout and plea for him to move faster and pump harder. The bed rocked with their urgency and Ken tore the sheets but Takafumi was deaf and blind to anything that wasn’t Ken gasping his name or the wide eyes that begged for him to not stop.

And he couldn’t, not even if his life depended on him. The voice in his head that he didn’t recognise or even remembered hearing urged him on, ordered him to lay claim on Ken on their love, before others would and tore them apart again _no no no don’t take our love away from us ever again please_ \--

Ken gripped his own weeping cock, red with need as it dribbled freely and in a move that dried the saliva in Takafumi’s mouth, started pumping his own penis in time with the man’s urgent pounding. The sight of that weeping head disappearing between frantic fingers that pulled and tugged with as little mercy as he had shown was the last straw; a choked off shout and Takafumi snapped his hips gracelessly, pumping his seed into Ken until thick, white liquid squelched out and still he couldn’t stop until he drained himself dry.

With a last gap, he pumped into Ken too hard but that was the trigger the other man needed and Ken moaned, low and lewd as his semen spurted out in long, thick white ropes all over his hand, stomach and chest.

It was a long time before he could get his breath back, Ken’s legs limp on the bed and the younger man staring up at the ceiling with a vague smile on his face. A smile that quickly turned into a groan when Takafumi scooted back to push open Ken’s thighs so he could lick and suckle on the red, puckered rim.

No blood, he noted with faint relief even as he used his thumbs to gently force Ken open so he could dart his tongue in, quickly flickers of the slick muscle that scooped out his own spunk like servings of the best cream that he eagerly swallowed down. Ken’s muscles trembled with exhausted need but instead of pushing him away, the other man pulled up his legs, and shivering hands pulled them open as wide as he could go so that the sensei could eat his fill.

When he finally did and lips wet and slick with his own juices, only then did Takafumi stopped, only to slowly crawl up Ken’s body, licking and eating the cum that painted Ken.

“Taka...oh gods…” Ken started to stroke himself again as the other man suckled on a nipple, jerking when he bit down and chewed on the nub of flesh. Takafumi could feel that Ken wasn’t as hard as earlier as he solicitously helped, finally knocking aside Ken’s fumbled attempts to masturbate so that he could do it instead. Not hard enough, no, Takafumi thought vaguely, but more than sufficient. 

He went back down to swallow Ken to the root, cockhead bumping the back of his throat and he hummed. Teeth scraped the oversensitized flesh as he drew back and with a gasped expletive, Ken came for the second time, hips jerking until he had no more to give.

The ache in his heart satisfied, the unknown voice finally silent with relief, Takafumi pulled an unresisting Ken into his arms, both ignoring the mess they were in to let sweating bodies cool down and heartbeats to slow.

Long moments passed like this, neither feeling the inclination to move. When sleep beckoned the older man, eyelids heavy, he heard Ken.

“I love you, you know that right?” It was said almost silently, there and gone if he hadn’t heard it.

He hugged Ken tighter, and wished they could melt into one another.

“I know,” he murmured, and dropped a kiss on his head. “I love you back, in this life and all our lives together.” What made him say that, he didn’t know, only that it felt right and Ken seemed to agree. Breaths synced in rhythm, they fell asleep.

It would be two months and a few days before they would die.

_To be continued..._

  
  



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